Heaven Can Wait
by Kasage Starrunner
Summary: (Asylum Arc) Following "CODE: Veronica" Claire and Chris meet a group of S.T.A.R.S. trainees run by Jo Sullivan and Alex Quenby, and with an embittered youth called Petra Cross discover the disturbing relics of the Ashford's obsession with Veronica.
1. Ice, Sodas, and Suicidal Tendencies

Heaven Can Wait   
  


Kasage Starrunner   
  


Disclaimer: Resident Evil and all characters, settings, monsters, and corporations associated with the game series and the movie are © Capcom and its affiliates. The author has no association with any of these companies.   
  


All other characters and creations are © Kasage Starrunner. The author would like to note that Petra Cross, (Jo Sullivan, possibly) and Adrian Rhoades are part of a joint game project with her and friends, and that Petra will also be used in a collaborative mange started by Mangaworkshop.net. Also, the character Alex Quenby is based on her character, Quenby Andries from the Infinite Spiral Manga saga. Other character associations will be mentioned as necessary.   
  


Also, feel free to correct my Resident Evil knowledge. I want to be accurate. Suggestions on that account are encouraged.   
  


A Cast List will shortly be available at my site, Let Me Live::   
  


http://geocities.com/lukleia/claire.html   
  


Warnings: Violence (as typical for Resident Evil), profanity (the worst namely on the part of Petra)--more warnings will be added if necessary.   
  
  
  


Chapter One: Ice, Sodas, and Suicidal Tendencies   
  
  
  


Antarctic Base: End of CODE:Veronica   
  
  
  


"The self-destruct system has been activated. All personnel evacuate immediately."   
  


Petra Cross had come inside to escape the cold and now she had to go back out into it to escape the impending explosion. The woman pushed a strand of green dyed hair from her pale face as she stepped over the rotting corpse of a dead zombie. She suddered involuntarily. This had not been her day all around. The air was oppressing enough as it was, add in the bodies, and you had the makings of a B-rated ... The punk opted not to finish that thought, as the hairs on her neck raise even higher.   
  


"God, I hate Umbrella."   
  


She hit the button to a door on her left, hoping to God it was the way she came in. Her hair lifted a little as the door raised, and her heart beat a little faster. The woman stepped in and sighed--wrong door again. Ever since she had got into this strange mansion-in-a-base she had been un able to orient herself correctly.   
  


"The self-destruct system has been activated. All personnel evacuate immediately."   
  
  
  


Petra looked around the little room, ready to back out, when suddenly she stood shock-still. "What the-- What the shit's up and fuck!"   
  


A boy lay in the corner with a rather unsightly hole through his abdomen. "Holy shit. Holy freakin' shit." She tugged at the hoop at the top of her ear, continuing to mutter than phrase.   
  


"The self-destruct system has been activated. All personnel evacuate immediately."   
  


Dead, naked boy in the corner, yea. More to my list of today's joys. She took off her jacket, revealing the short tube top underneath. She'd be cold, but she didn't really want to stare at a naked corpse--it wasn't her idea of a good time at all.   
  


Violet gloved hands wrapped him as effectively as possible, then slung him over her shoulder. "Dead or not, if you're not a zombie then you're coming with me." She shook her head to clear it, trying to ignore the limp arm dangling down her back as she retreated from the room.   
  


Violet-contact colored eyes examined the wall outside, once more. For the first time she spied the sign labeling the Emergency Elevator shaft. Petra ran to it and jamming the buttons started her descent, still praying that the place wasn't ready to blow quite yet.   
  


"The self-destruct system has been activated. All personnel evacuate immediately."   
  


Petra was about ready to start chanting with the recorded voice--that or yell at it to shut the hell up. Between that and the sirens she was getting a headache.   
  


"The self-destruct system ..."   
  


"Has been activated, all personnel get your asses out before you're blown to bits."   
  


She exited the elevator and started on the catwalk to the door outside, passing by a plane that had collide with the building. She had spied it on the way in, but forgotten about it until now. It was quite the day for plane crashed in Antarctica so it seemed. Impossibly conveniant if you asked her.   
  


Goosebumps were already starting to raise on her skin and her breath rose in clouds above her short, tapered hair. She stopped briefly to catch her breath and adjust the load of the boy on her back. His auburn hair draped over her shoulder near her head and she shuddered once more, half expecting him to awake and bite her neck. The body, however, remained immobile, and she pressed on out the double doors.   
  


"The self-destruct system has been activated. All personnel evacuate immediately."   
  


If it was cold inside the base, it was colder outside in the bitter Antarctic wind. Petra bit her lip and began running, risking slipping on the ice to escape major frostbite and the impending explosion of Umbrella's home on the end of the earth.   
  


It wasn't until she got onto the steps past the landing platform that Petra had to pause again. She squinted up at the sky, risking freeing a hand to watch a jet pass noisily over her head, leaving the base. "The hell?" she yelled over the sound. Someone else was leaving the base? Were they the people from the cargo plane? Did they know this boy? Did they kill him? What the hell was going on here?   
  


No time to ponder. With loud crunches she continued down the metal stairs, gripping her load with frozen knuckles, despite her gloves. On the second to last step her boot hit black ice and she tumbled down to the snow below, the boy flying away a few feet further.   
  


"Fuck," she spat, her unprotected stomach recoiling from the frozen ground. She reached out with her gloved right hand to get up and touched instead a black boot. "The hell?" she said again.   
  


"Such language for a lady."   
  


Petra crawled onto her knees and looked up. "Who the hell are you?" The man smiled down at her, red eyes glinting through the snow blowing in the air. It was the last thing she saw before everything went black.   
  


***   
  


Undisclosed Location   
  


The dark alley was filled with them--zombies: decayed, hungry, and disgusting. The blond cornered by them bared her teeth, frustrated, the door behind her locked and not budging. In her black jumpsuit it was difficult to distinguish her gender from a man. Even the thick brows lowered over deadly blue eyes gave a masculine impression. She tried the the doorknob one last time--still locked, and the ket was nowhere to be seen.   
  


The woman struck out with her feet, kicking the two zombies into three others. The action held them off long enough for her to check her inventory once again. There was still nothing there but her lighter, a combat knife, and one more round worth of handgun bullets.   
  


"Shit," she growled.   
  


Naked fingers reloaded effortlessly as she stepped onto a crate to distance herself from the encroaching zombies. With four out of five bullets she felled half of the undead. The rest continued toward her, as if they knew that she was on her last bullet. She could see the peeling flesh on the forerunner's face and the stench of death was unavoidable.   
  


"This is ridiculous." With deadly aim she shot at the door. The locking mechanism finally released and the door swung open, revealing darkness beyond. Finally seeing an escape from doom, she lept through the air and out the door, slamming it shut before the front zombie could grab at her arm and bite.   
  


Suddenly the lights came up and the zombies, new room, and door were gone, revealing a white room surrounding her with reflective steel floors. A balding programmer signaled her from an observation window on the far end of the room. The blond jogged across to the room and entered, throwing her virtually programmed utility belt to the ground.   
  


"How'd I do, Josephs?" she asked.   
  


"You timed out at 6 minutes and 38 seconds, Alex."   
  


"Level 10, right?"   
  


"12, actually. That's the best score we've had yet. Most either died or completed it in over 15 minutes of virtual time."   
  


"And the door?"   
  


"The only way out was to shoot it."   
  


Alex nodded, satisfied. No injuries, good time, and level complete--not a bad evening's work. "I could have done better, Josephs."   
  


"The Corporation realises that I'm sure. You'll get your results and placement within the next week, though considering your attitude it will likely be in your inbox by morning." The middle aged man held out his hand and the woman took it. "Good luck, Alex Quenby."   
  


She fingered the Umbrella logo on her Shock-Suit. "Same to you, doctor, if luck is the word."   
  


"Luck is the word in this city."   
  


Alex smirked. "It could be worse, you know. You could be a zombie in Raccoon City." She laughed and marched out the back door into the main hallway.   
  


"That's not funny," Dr. Josephs yelled after her. "Alex---Alex!"   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Jet Plane En Route to Europe   
  
  
  


Claire leaned back in her chair, getting the first real sleep that she had gotten in days. Her hands lay folded in her lap, eyelids flitting occasionally in her dreams. Chris smiled as he glanced at her--she seemed to have changed so much since he saw her last. When he left for Raccoon City she had still seemed like a girl. Now she was an adventuresome, brave, clear-thinking woman. For the most part, his sister could take care of herself, and that amoung all things was what surpised the older brunette the most.   
  


He glanced at the gauges briefly, and spying an ant smashed it with his index finger. He'd honestly never think of the little insects the same way ever again, thanks to Alexia Ashford. The young man glanced out the window and watched the clouds roll by for a few seconds. They must be about halfway there by now--the sky was getting dark. Claire twitched next to him. The two of them would have to catch up when they next got the chance--maybe after this whole thing was over and they could rest. She could tell him all about the boy Steve and her experience in Raccoon City--how she met Leon S. Kennedy. When Umbrella was gone they'd have plenty of time.   
  


When ...   
  
  
  


***   
  


Umbrella Barracks, Paris France   
  
  
  


"Do you think this soda's safe?"   
  


Alex looked up from her copy of the New York Times. "What?"   
  


"Do you think this soda's safe?" Brown eyes gazed intently at the ingredients on the side of the soda can. "I mean, it's an Umbrella-made soda."   
  


"The soda is not made by Umbrella, Jo."   
  


The brunette bounced up from the bed, ponytail bobbing up and down. "Rain Soda is made by a minor company owned by the Umbrella Corporation--it's why they have the machines here in the building."   
  


"If you don't trust it, don't drink it."   
  


Jo sat it down on the floor and stared down on it. "But I'm thirsty."   
  


"So drink water."   
  


"I trust it even less. It hasn't been processed."   
  


Alex put the paper over her head. "Christ!" Jo gave her a smack. "What th-"   
  


"Don't swear." She opened the soda and looked at it, then poured it in a glass and stared at it some more.   
  


"Just drink the damn soda, Sullivan."   
  


"Hey, no need to pull in the last name." She started to take a sip, then changed her mind. "Got a water testing kit by any chance?"   
  


The blond rolled over. "I'm going to bed. I get my placement tomorrow and I don't have time for this."   
  


Jo stopped examining the bubbling clear liquid and looked at Alex. Her thin eyebrows lowered for a moment. "They haven't placed you yet?"   
  


"Mrrr."   
  


"What?"   
  


"What do you think?"   
  


"I'm heading back to my college city--S.T.A.R.S. I requested the position and the gave me one as second-in-command."   
  


"I never knew you were suicidal." 

"Hey, just because the Alpha Team in Raccoon City was decimated doesn't mean--"   
  


"You're suicidal."   
  


"Thanks. I guess from you I should take that as a compliment."   
  


"You'd better. I'm going to rule the world one day."   
  


"Uh-huh. And with an attitude like yours I'm sure that the whole world will bow before you, obeying your every sardonic whim."   
  


The masculine female cackled. "It'd make life more interesting."   
  


"Okay, Hitler."   
  


"Oh stop. I'd never take over the world. I'm too--"   
  


"Bitter?"   
  


"I was going to say sarcastic, but bitter works."   
  


"Where do you want to work, anyway?"   
  


"Top level, why?"   
  


"That'll never happen."   
  


"Why not, Java Jo?"   
  


"You're too good."   
  


"At what?"   
  


"Everything."   
  


Alex put the paper away. "I'm going to bed."   
  


Jo shook her head and grinned. "You are. I don't know ho-"   
  


"Goodnight."   
  


The brunette sighed and climbed into bed, staring at the cup of Umbrella soda. "Goodnight."   
  


***   
  
  
  


Undisclosed Location   
  
  
  


"Have her put into prison in a city where JANUS can keep an eye on her. I don't have time to babysit nosy college students." The deep voice sounded disgusted--as if this conversation had already gone on too long.   
  


"What about the boy?" The voice was high and genderless. A long fingered hand motioned in the slanted light, but nothing else of the two shadowed figures was visible in the dimly lit room.   
  


"Don't worry about that corpse, I have plans for it."   
  


"Sordid, no doubt."   
  


The sillouhette laughed. "Sordid indeed, my revenge is in that box. Take care of the girl and quit troubling yourself on my expense. Honestly, you'd think you were raised by an Ashford.   
  


"Quit throwing names around. I don't have time for babysitting either. You're lucky I have time to drop her off into police custody, otherwise I might just let her lose unguarded. I have my own business as well, and where that's concerned your revenge can wait."   
  


"I'll take it that you want no more trespassers for presents."   
  


"You know what I want, now get out of my site, you wheedling parasite." 

The man slipped out of the room, leaving the other figure to more important business.   
  


***   
  
  
  


Jet Plane En Route to Europe   
  
  
  


Claire woke up at about 4:00am Greenwich Mean Time. She yawned and avoided the urge to stretched in the cramped confines of the cockpit. The red-head looked over at where her older brother carefully monitored the in-flight systems and frowned. "How long was I out?"   
  


Chris looked over at her and shrugged. "Most of the night. You needed a good nap."   
  


The young woman rocked her neck back and forth. It was stiff from sleeping in the chair for so many hours. She looked out the window at the cloud plane below them. "Are we going back to Paris?"   
  


Chris shook his head. "We can't afford to--not until the rondeveau, anyway. I'm trying to think of a place where Umbrella hasn't heard of us, but I'm sure they have a notice out on all my friends by now."   
  


"Yeah, I guess after the stunt I pulled that was the least they could do."   
  


"At least you did something."   
  


Claire eyed her brother with her cloudless blue eyes. His brow was creased with stress and there were lines around his mouth from frowning with concentration. He looked so much older than her really was. "You need to rest, Chris."   
  


"I can't afford it."   
  


"You have to. Tired people make mistakes and it'd be a shame if you came all this way only to die because you were exhausted. We can't beat Umbrella if we're too tired to puzzle through the next mess they throw at us."   
  


The older man gritted his teeth, then released. "You're right, Claire. I can't even think straigh right now."   
  


"Thankyou. Now let's find a place to land this thing so we can both rest. I'm stiff all over from this chair."   
  


"That's what you get for sleeping in a jet."   
  


***   
  
  
  


Umbrella Headquarters, Paris, France   
  
  
  


The first thing Alex did when she got up was check her inbox for her assignment. It was there, in bold, red letters so she couldn't miss it:   
  


Alexis Quenby 

Assignment: Cpt. S.T.A.R.S. Omega Team 

Location: Midfield Valley, English Channel 

Second in Cmd: Jo-anne Sullivan 

Report to site at 16:00 GMT to brief trainees.   
  


Cold blue eyes blinked as she read the message three times. "What the--" She looked again and it was still the same. S.T.A.R.S.? Omega? There had to be some mistake. She was worth more to the Corporation then this.   
  


The woman printed a copy and jumped on the elevator to the Ground Floor, stomping passed the main desk and into the office of Assistant Executive Valeris Davenport.   
  


"Sir? Sir!" cried the flustered secretary. "You can't go in there without an appointment."   
  


The blond shot her an icy glare and the woman clamped her mouth shut. Alex nodded and marched through the wooden double doors to the office, slamming it ominously behind her.   
  


"Valeris, you have some explaining to do," she yelled, holding the printed slip.   
  


The English businessman turned around in the chair behind his desk, laying his wrinkled hands on the table. Grey eyes glinted with a youthfulness that did not match his grey hair and deteriorating hair line. "You're late," he said matter-of-factly.   
  


"What?"   
  


"You're late. I expected you to storm into this office at 6:00am. It's now 6:15."   
  


"There was a crowd at the elevator."   
  


"I see." Valeris picked up the paper between thumb and forefinger, as though it may be contaminated. He glance at it then looked at the glaring woman. "You can stop giving me your death look now, Alex, its too early for that to work. Now, you're upset about your placement."   
  


"Upset is an understatement. You told me I was one of your most promising employees and you repay me with this--suicide."   
  


"Suicide is a harsh term for it, Alex, and its not like you're a member. You're a captain."   
  


"You said I'd go far."   
  


"The Holograph tests indicate that S.T.A.R.S. or some other branch of Umbrella counterstrike is your best match as an employee, and as there are no vacant positions in any other branch of the counterstrike forces it was only natural for me to take the liberty of placing you in S.T.A.R.S."   
  


"And the Omega--"   
  


"Only means that the members of the team have yet to be properly trained, by yourself of course. You said that you wanted responsibility."   
  


"I'm a lone wolf, Mr. Davenport. I meant top-secret responsibility. I can carry information to my death if need be, but you know as well as I do that putting me in charge of a S.T.A.R.S. team is a death knell for the members under my command. I'm not a leader."   
  


"Oh posh, it builds character."   
  


"I don't want character, dammit. I want to go places."   
  


"And you will--to Midfield Valley. And I expect you to follow instructions better than Captain Wesker of Raccoon City. It would be a shame if Umbrella ... Lost track of you."   
  


"Valeris?"   
  


The man motioned her inward. "Understand, Alex, Umbrella is your god. The sooner you learn this, the safer you'll be." He waved her to a normal position again and she leaned back. "Now pack your things. One should never be late for their first day of work."   
  


"Yes, sir." She turned to leave.   
  


"Oh and Alex?"   
  


"Yes."   
  


"Next time you clean up after a Tyrant in C-block could you please try not to contaminate the whole subfloor with B.O.W. gas? The Corporation would greatly appreciate it."   
  


"Yes, Valeris."   
  


The door shut behind her, and the executive looked after her for a moment, shaking his head. "That woman is more like Albert Wesker used to be then any earthborn female ever should."   
  


TBC with Chapter 2. 


	2. Midfield Valley

  
  


Heaven Can Wait   
  


Kasage Starrunner   
  


Disclaimer: Resident Evil and all characters, settings, monsters, and corporations associated with the game series and the movie are © Capcom and its affiliates. The author has no association with any of these companies.   
  


All other characters and creations are © Kasage Starrunner. The author would like to note that Petra Cross, (Jo Sullivan, possibly) and Adrian Rhoades are part of a joint game project with her and friends, and that Petra will also be used in a collaborative mange started by Mangaworkshop.net. Also, the character Alex Quenby is based on her character, Quenby Andries from the Infinite Spiral Manga saga. Other character associations will be mentioned as necessary.   
  


Also, feel free to correct my Resident Evil knowledge. I want to be accurate. Suggestions on that account are encouraged.   
  


Author's Notes are available after the chapter.   
  


A Cast List will shortly be available at my site, Let Me Live::   
  


http://geocities.com/lukleia/claire.html   
  


Warnings: Violence (as typical for Resident Evil), profanity (the worst namely on the part of Petra)--more warnings will be added if necessary.   
  


Chapter Two: Midfield Valley   
  
  
  
  
  


Hotel, Undisclosed Location   
  
  
  


"There was a friendly, but naive King 

Who wed a very nasty Queen. 

The King was loved 

And the Queen was feared.   
  


"Then one day while strolling with his court 

An arrow pierced the kind King's heart. 

He lost his life 

And his lady love."   
  


Claire sat up in the narrow hotel bed, breathing heavily. She looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was 10:00 am and she had only been asleep for three hours. The woman rubbed her temple, trying to alleviate a headache that tried to warn her she needed more sleep. Had it only been four and a half hours since they landed? She rolled over. Chris was still asleep in the other bed, arm twisted under the pillow he had pulled practically down to his chest. The S.T.A.R.S. uniform was still on hom. How long had it been since that thing had been washed?   
  


She shook her head and got out of bed. The red-head knew how long it had been since she had gotten a shower--too long. Time to get clean. Claire locked the door to the bathroom and slipped out of her soiled clothes, trying not to think that she would only have to put the dirty things back on again. She hopped into the shower, and as the hot water washed away the grime she tried let her troubles wash away with it. Scrubbing her face and hair she wanted to shut of her brain, knowing that thinking would only bring images of pain and sorrow. She hoped the pain would wash away with the dirt and dead skin, but it didn't, so she tried to think of the water instead.   
  


It was a good thing to think about, as it was the exact opposite of Anarctica--Hot!   
  


When Claire finished and dried off she put her clothes back on, leaving off the vest. Chris was now awake, and watched her as she touseled her loose, wet hair with a towel. She laid the vest on the back of a chair and smiled. "I feel clean--er."   
  


Chris laughed--it had been a long time since he'd done that. "I bet those cloths need washed."   
  


Claire looked down at the dirt spots on her vest and jeans. "No kidding. Too bad I lost my spare clothes."   
  


Chris nodded. The same was true for him, but there was no need to state the already obvious. Well, thanks to the hotel he found out that his credit card at least was still active, despite his bank account being frozen. Something told him that his sister wouldn't complain about a side-trip to buy clothes. Then she could wash her favorites. He, personally, didn't really care whether he ever saw the damned S.T.A.R.S. uniform again.   
  


"I made coffee," he said, pointing at the hotel-supplied mini-coffee maker.   
  


"Thanks." She poured half a cup and sipped at it, thoughtfully.   
  


The brunette man pulled out a half empty pack of cigarettes. "Can I bum the lighter back for a second.   
  


Claire glared at him, holding a hand to the pocket where she kept the newly returned lighter. It reminded her of Rodrigo. Biting her lip she pushed the thought away and glared more intently at her brother. "You told me you quit."   
  


"Things got stressful."   
  


"That's no excuse, you promised me you'd quit!" The red-head snatched the carton from her brother's hands.   
  


"Hey, give those back, Claire."   
  


"They're bad for you."   
  


"Stress is bad for you too. Besides, I'll just buy another pack."   
  


Claire chewed on the lip she was already biting, but conceded, handing Chris both the cigarettes and the lighter. "My only condition is you smoke outside. I don't want to share carcinigins."   
  


"Fine by me. I'll be back in 10 minutes," he said and slipped out of the room. Claire looked coldly after him.   
  


"I can't believe he didn't quit."   
  


***   
  


Midfield Valley, Ohio, USA   
  


The city of Midfield Valley was an international community founded by the Umbrella Corporation in the flat, glacial plains of the Mid-Ohio Valley. After the collapse of a local corporate farm, the larger monopoly moved in, easily able to out buy the local farmers in the State Auction. In the end, Umbrella had bought the fields and farms around it, and the original town itself, reconstructing it to its own standards. About the only thing left of the original structures was a few old townshouses, the local Methodist and Catholic churches, and a horse farm and mansion built by the former own of the corporate farm. That mansion was the prize of the Davenport family, who preferred to own the mansion rather than live there regularly.   
  


From the plane above the city, Alex could see the farms and empty hills to the north, east, and south of the city. Columbus and its suburbs ended to the west and southwest, but the rest was clear area for growth--or a clear path to prevent metropolitan destruction. The woman knew that Umbrella preferred secluded locations for its most dangerous projects, but this nowhere county in the middle of Ohio was ridiculous.   
  


She supposed her situation with the Corporation could be worse, but at the moment she couldn't think of how. On their descent into the private airfield she gave her new second-in-command a poke.   
  


"Jo, you really went to college here? Its a cowtown."   
  


"No, Columbus is a cowtown, and yes, I went to school here. What I couldn't take at the University, I finished at the Branch during the summer."   
  


"Branch?"   
  


"Ohio State University--Newark Campus. There's another cowtown for you."   
  


"Ah ... Why not the main branch?"   
  


"Umbrella wouldn't fund it. I guess the main branch cares too much for football."   
  


Alex cackled. "Umbrella doesn't like to compete for attention."   
  


"They'd be in Columbus, otherwise."   
  


"God, we're a long way from Paris."   
  


"No kidding."   
  


The landing gear skidded on the runway and the two women adjusted themselves in their seats. The blonde stared vaguely at the wall and began muttering to herself. "I don't see why they even need a S.T.A.R.S. team here, there's nothing for miles."   
  


"Gosh, Alex, there are people who live here! And ever since the incident people are begging for Umbrella to give them security. Besides, a large portion of the Corporation's activity in the Eastern half of the U.S. starts right here in Midfield Valley. Who knows what's going on in this 'cowtown'."   
  


"I have a good idea."   
  


"The University practically encourages it."   
  


"I guess you have a point."   
  


"Thankyou. In my opinion Umbrella should love out of the way places like these, if they don't already have a base in the Sahara."   
  


"You have no idea."   
  


"What? Well don't complain, it prevents the contamination of innocent civilians."   
  


The plane taxied to a stop as the two of them stared at each other. 'She actually thinks Umbrella wants to prevent the population? She's more naive then I thought. That or extremely mislead.' She had a guess what caused that. The damned University.   
  


The taller woman unhooked her saftely belt, running a hand through her short blonde hair before she picked up the backpack that contained everything she actually cared about. "Come on, JO, let's go."   
  


"You're a poet and you don-"   
  


Alex glared at her, and the bouncy brunette cut the remark short. "Let's move, I want to get a tour of this city before I make any first impressions."   
  


***   
  


Undisclosed Location   
  
  
  


Petra groaned and stretched as she regained consciousness for the first time since she'd blacked out at the bottom of the steps in Antarctica. A bright light shone in her eyes from the ceiling and worsened her already blurry vision. Her contacts were dry and moved on top of her eyes as she attempted to see what was around her. She blinked a few times to rewet them. The woman's focus faded in and out, but here and there she caught snatches of conversation from over her head.   
  


"Can you get an I.D. on her?"   
  


"Student--says M.V.U.--plus an Umbrella logo. Must be Midfield Valley."   
  


"Looks like a local punk--nosing where she shouldn't."   
  


" ... Redfields."   
  


"Keep her under monitoring."   
  


"No, send her home to court."   
  


"With an Umbrella official?"   
  


"Yeah, that frost-bite might be a lesson well learned."   
  


Her consciousness faded again after that and it wasn't until an hour later that she woke up. A humming sound surrounded her and she couldn't move. It took her a few minutes to realise that this was because she was strapped down. Once this was discovered, she began clenching and unclenching her fist--afraid the circulation would go thanks to the tight bindings. Feeling eyes on her, she tried to look around, stretching her eyes and neck backwards.   
  


"Who the fuck are you?" she spat.   
  


"Such language for a lady."   
  


The woman jumped, afraid it was the blond haired man she ahd seen before losing consciousness in the first place. She squinted to see better, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it was a fairly natural looking thirty year old.   
  


"Who are you?" she asked, now biting back her temper.   
  


"I should ask the same of you, Petra Cross."   
  


"You know my name. That's all you need to know." She wrinkled her nose and fought at the straps a little. When they wouldn't budge, she stopped.   
  


"Your I.D. says you have three family members, your mother, father and brother. Where are they?"   
  


The student examined the man once more before she answered the question. Umbrella logo-God she must be in deep. And all she had wanted to do was go on vacation. The green-haired youth searched the room again, but there was no sign of the blond man in black with the glinting red eyes. Maybe he was a hallucination ...   
  


"Our plane crashed. They died."   
  


The man raised an eyebrow at her.   
  


"Dad had a private license. We were going on vacation--land hopping from Ohio to Australia. Mom, Dad, and Patrick were all employees of your Corporation--it was a fully funded vacation. Something knocked us off course and we crashed in Antarctica. I should be dead, dammit, but I'm not. Need to know any other details?"   
  


"Did you see anything you shouldn't have?"   
  


"Nothing that wasn't all over the 6 O'clock news after Raccoon City," she lied smoothly. She had seen the creature hanging from a crane in a straght jacket, not to mention that odd mansion, but wasn't about to tell the man that. Besides, he seemed to believe her not to be a threat--just a cold, crash landed college student.   
  


The man sat silent for a moment in though, as though he had something else to say. It came to him eventually, and then he spoke again. "You're lucky that you're not contaminated, or you'd be spending your miserable life with us."   
  


"Thanks for the concern, but as my parents would have had it, I'll already be doing that, I'm sure." She looked around the room again. "I can't see very well in here. Where's the boy?"   
  


"What boy?" The man was startled. He really wasn't expecting this question.   
  


"The boy who came in with me."   
  


"There was no boy."   
  


"There was this dead boy. I wasn't about to leave him to rot in snow or become one of your damned zombies, now where is he."   
  


"There was no boy."   
  


The woman went silent. Something strange was going on. Somewhere between Antarctica and where she was now, the body she had rescued from a fate worse than death disappeared. Something told her this wasn't the first person given charge over her.   
  


The man pushed some brown hair from his forehead and jotted a note onto something she couldn't see. "You will be returned to Midfield Valley, Miss Cross. Do not leave town, other representatives will be in touch with you shortly. If the plane crash is verified no other action will be taken against you by the Corporation, other than the visits mentioned. If it is not ... There will be Hell to pay."   
  


Petra felt her stomach sink inside her. She had a nagging suspicion that the wrecked plane would never be found.   
  


***   
  
  
  


Midfield Valley, Ohio   
  
  
  


"So tell me again why you went to school here?" The blonde and the brunette walked briskly down the sidewalk together, getting a feel for the corporate city.   
  


"I told you, Alex, Umbrella fully funded my education."   
  


"But you didn't grow up here."   
  


"No ..." She tapped her fingers together as though she had more to say.   
  


"What?"   
  


Jo jumped a bit and looked at the blue eyed woman. "You know, we never talk about you. Tell me about yourself."   
  


"There's nothing to tell."   
  


Two people walked by and Alex watched them closely. They were a male and a female, a few years apart in age, covered from head to toe in dirt, except for their faces. The man was tall and the jumpsuit reminded her almost too much of a S.T.A.R.S. uniform. The line of his face was even familiar, just like his haircut. Then there was the woman--about 19, blue eyes, blue jeans, red hair, red vest, Red-"   
  


"Whatcha looking at?"   
  


Alex growled a little at the interruption. Her train of thought lost, she turned back to Jo. "Do they seem funny to you?"   
  


Jo glanced over at them and shook her head. "Probably college kids--they are a little familiar, though." She reached into her bad and pulled out a can of soda. When Alex spied the lable she rolled her eyes.   
  


"Not this again."   
  


"But the Chemistry lab is only two blocks away!"   
  


***   
  


Claire eyed the can her brother was drinking from suspiciously. "Doesn't it ever worry you that there's such a thing as Cola by Umbrella?"   
  


Chris blinked at his sister, then at the can. "It tastes safe to me." He continued to drink it as he walked down the street. Claire paused for a moment and looked behind her. "What is it, sis?"   
  


"I think that guy is watching us." The red-head jerked her ponytail in the direction of where a tall blonde was standing with a much shorter sable-haired young woman. They seemed to be arguing over a can of soda.   
  


"Let's keep walking then. Look, there's a Lazarus. Do you want-"   
  


Claire ducked into the double glass doors before he could finish.   
  


"Someone wants out of those clothes," he mumbled.   
  


***   
  


"Jo, you can test the damned beverage later. I want to find ou-" She looked around. "They're gone."   
  


"We'll see them again."   
  


"No ... there was something important to it. I had something. Its right back where I can-"   
  


"Brain fart."   
  


"Thanks." The blonde's gaze followed her partner's arm as she restowed the soda. "And thanks for that as well."   
  


"Just because I put it away doesn't mean that I trust it."   
  


"Duly noted, just don't do that during training."   
  


"Duh ..." Jo's brown eyes darted around. "Where to now?"   
  


"Picking up uniforms, which we shall drop off at our headquarters. From there I will get dressed and find all the "low" places in town."   
  


"What about me?"   
  


"Do whatever you want, just be back at the H.Q. by 4:00pm."   
  
  
  


***   
  


Umbrella Headquarters, Paris, France   
  
  
  


Valeris sat at his mahogany desk watching the security video of an internal outbreak from weeks ago. They sent Alex Quenby to sub-floor 149 fairly unprepared for what she would find there. Apparantly, the Licker monster had made such a snack of the security team that it had evolved several times further than previously documented by Umbrella's scientific staff. Alex herself had only been equipped with a Glock and a combat knife--though this was because of her "trainee" status. Despite this, out of the three people sent in with her, the tall blond woman was the only one who made it out of the locked down sub-floor alive.   
  


And she had come out contaminated.   
  


The monster charged at the woman on the screen. She charged back at it, stabbing it in the abdomen several times while aiming blindly for its head with the handgun. Her mouth came open as though she were shouting as the claws raked over her back and around her side. Staggering, angry, and frustrated, the blonde checked her gun and aimed one last time. The tape ended there.   
  


Valeris drummed his fingers across the desk worriedly. He always winced when the claws dug into Alex's skin. He never would be able to believe that she killed that thing single handedly with an automatic weapon or a miracle. And then there was the T-virus.   
  


Everyone, medical staff and room-mates included knew that the woman called Alex Quenby should be dead or behind glass. Now she was virus-free and heading to Ohio.   
  


He rewound the tape and watched it all again. Miss Quenby really was a suicidal thing. The old man wondered if the medical team had come up with an explaination yet. Potential buyers were counting on that information. He knew for a fact that the genetic team had come up with nothing yet--they were still sequencing her DNA--hoping for some magic anomaly. Valeris wondered if he could get his hands on the second tape--the one with the Tyrant in C-block.   
  


The phone on the thin-haired man's desk beeped. He checked the line and smiled. "Hello, Dr. Fujimoto ... Genki desu, arigatou. And you? ... Excellent--now tell me about these tissue samples."   
  


***   
  


Hotel, Midfield Valley   
  
  
  


When Claire and Chris got back from their shopping excursion, the first thing Claire did was take another shower. Chris didn't see why anyone would actually want to take two showers in one day, but he figured that it had something to do with her new and more importantly clean clothes.   
  


While she was in the bathroom, he smoked another cigarette. She really couldn't complain at him while she was in the shower--it was a smoking room anyways. He watched the thin tendrils of smoke rise to the ceiling as he exhaled, lazily dreaming of better days. The brunette propped his feet up on the desk and leaned back in the chair.   
  


"You said you'd smoke outside."   
  


The man broke out of his daydreaming, and, bolting upright fell to the floor--chair and all. His legs entangled themselves with the chair's as he was caught in the acy. Chris tried desperately to escape the sudden, frigid gaze of his sister as she bent over him, red heair dripping on the floor. He clenched the cigarette in his teeth.   
  


"You wah inda showah," he said in the caught-smoking tongue.   
  


"Put it out Christophen Michael Refield!"   
  


The brunette detangled himself from the chair, secretly vowing to get Claire back for scaring the shit out of him. She didn't even offer to help him up as he stood and put out the cigarette. It went out with a mournful puff.   
  


His sister picked up the towel she had dropped and began drying her hair for the second time that day. "Now I feel really clean." She definitely looked better. The green, ribbed tank top and fitted black pants made her look human again, instead of like "The Creature from the Black Lagoon." The red-head stole her belt from her soiled jeans and buckled it, snapping her biker gloves back on soon afterward. The old cloths she began to throw in a pile.   
  


"When you're clean, put that disgusting uniform with these. I'll wash it all in a few days." She picked up her pants, using her thumb and forefinger like tweezers. "--if not this afternoon."   
  


She finished toweling her head dry and then crawled into bed, leaving her hair loose on the pillow. The blue eyed brother blinked, but assumed she was taking a nap. It sounded like an excellent idea, and one he would copy after taking a shower of his own.   
  


TBC in Chapter 3.   
  
  
  


Authors Notes:   
  


I do not smoke--but many of my relatives do.   
  


Lazarus is a department store (in case you've never heard of it).   
  


Midfield Valley, Ohio:   
  


Midfield Valley is based off of what I'm afraid could one day happen to the area where I grew up, in Croton, OH. For the longest time the town was filled with Corporate Egg Farms--Buckeye Egg Farms, run by Anton Pohlman. He built a mansion and horsebarn near the tiny area that actually is the town. However, the EPA just shut them down (and believe me, we've been waiting), and is auctioning off the land. The mansion was bought by, we believe, some undisclosed Hollywood actor/tress. As to the rest of it, who knows. We're bordered by New Albany, which was rebuilt by Wexner as an upscale town. We don't know what will happen here.   
  


Why did I use it? Because I know the weather and the area. It involves no research to be realstic, and I do try to be accurate, so don't flame me for rewriting Croton. That's why this note is here. 


	3. Death Walking

Heaven Can Wait   
  


Kasage Starrunner   
  


Disclaimer: Resident Evil and all characters, settings, monsters, and corporations associated with the game series and the movie are © Capcom and its affiliates. The author has no association with any of these companies.   
  


All other characters and creations are © Kasage Starrunner. The author would like to note that Petra Cross, (Jo Sullivan, possibly) and Adrian Rhoades are part of a joint game project with her and friends, and that Petra will also be used in a collaborative mange started by Mangaworkshop.net. Also, the character Alex Quenby is based on her character, Quenby Andries from the Infinite Spiral Manga saga. Other character associations will be mentioned as necessary.   
  


Also, feel free to correct my Resident Evil knowledge. I want to be accurate. Suggestions on that account are encouraged.   
  


A Cast List will shortly be available at my site, Let Me Live:: 

http://geocities.com/lukleia/claire.html   
  


Warnings: Violence (as typical for Resident Evil), profanity (the worst namely on the part of Petra)--more warnings will be added if necessary.   
  
  
  


Chapter Three: Death Walking   
  
  
  


Bio-ject Warehouse, Undisclosed Location   
  
  
  


Cold, flourescent light filtered through the grated floor of the upper level, appearing as star-like pinpricks on the textured steel of the ground floor. Footsteps echoed like armor across the long, narrow expanse of the building, intermixed with the sounds of the generator and muffled whispers of the staff, scientist and civil alike. Enforced glass tubes and metal crates lined the floors, and the self-illuminating tubes cast an eerie glow in the spaced light. From far away, the staff could see the sillouhettes of the eerie freak show on display like a museum showcase. It was a menagerie of Bio-ject's leftover projects and fresh meat--all waiting for their own opportunity to be reconstructed into something bigger, better, and more frightening: something that would scare their competitors shitless.   
  


One of the tubes was isolated on the far end of the upper floor. The only illumintion there was that of the tube itself and the monitor screens and button lights surrounding it. Various hoses and wires attached to the top and sides of the glass, sending charges and information to the sidelong computers and the governmental JANUS system. The computers closest monitored the temperature of the stasis liquid in Celsius, while another kept tabs on the vital functions of the body inside. Those functions registered on the screen as 0.   
  


The body itself had been suspended in a gelatinous liquid, by staff who liked to call it Jell-o. The "Jell-o", which had a more suspicious and lengthy name, was then frozen--a gesture to prevent decay in the body until it could be put to good use. The thick, frozen liquid made the skin seem laer than it was, and the thick, short auburn hair hung in the substance as though it were floating. Veins criss-crossed the skin like blue tatooes. That combined with the stitches across the young male's chest made him seem remotely like some form of the Frankenstein monster. However, the stitches were merely the remnants of a medics attempt to close the large wound in the lower abdomen. Obviously this was so that once revived, the wound that killed the boy would not do so again.   
  


Two figures stepped from the shadows in to the dim light surround the containment tank.   
  


"So, have you identified our Lazarus, doctor?"   
  


The figure that spoke was blonde, and his eyes seemed to glint a dim red from behind the sunglasses indoors and outdoors. The other that stood next to him was a woman, and she stepped back from him before answering, her eyes refused to look at his face, out of intimidation or fear. Her hands were small, and clutched a filing folder tighly to her chest.   
  


"Yes. His prints match a young man named Steve Burnside, age 17, blood type AB. His father was caught spying in the Umbrella Corporation and the whole family was imprisoned ..." The man motioned for the folder and the woman gulped. " ... In Rockfort."   
  


The blonde flipped through the pages and smiled. " A present conveniently left by the Redfields, how kind. Either you have some excellent sources outside of this Corporation or you are something of an incredible snoop yourself, Dr. Forscythe."   
  


The American doctor ignored the comment, flicking a brown strand of hair from in front of her wire-rimmed eyeglasses. "We'll be ready to begin the Lazarus Operation at any time, Wesker. In the mean time, I'll be in the staff room ... Eating my lunch."   
  


"You can eat after this?"   
  


She raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing more as she walked out. Albert Wesker cackled softly to himself, taking a second to push his sunglasses back onto the arch of his nose.   
  


"Mr. Burnside, you have no idea what you died into. You're about to become an incredible asset to me. Chris Redfied will not escape me this time. He will have to save his precious sister, who will try so desperately to save you."   
  


Steve just hung there, frozen, and if there were such things as ghosts he was probably screaming at the blond man to leave Claire Redfield alone.   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Hotel, Midfield Valley   
  
  
  


Claire awoke at 2:30 in the afternoon feeling better then she had in weeks. Chris was already awake and dressed in a green button-down shirt and some jeans. He smelled a lot better now, much to his sister's relief, however the green shirt made her secretly wonder if her brother was deliberately trying to copy her cloths. To stop the mischief before it escalated, the red-head dug around in her shopping bag for a sweater and threw it over the tank. The sweater was black and red--a definite contrast to the previous green. She smiled in triumph as her brother watched her.   
  


"Hey, Claire-bear--"   
  


"Don't call me that. I'm not five."   
  


"Sorry," he grinned a little. He'd been calling her that forever, and the nickname had just recently got amusing. "I couldn't stand the smell anymore," he said, gesturing to where their dirty cloths had been piled. "I washed them. They're packed in my bag."   
  


Claire laughed. "Becoming a woman on me Chris--what happened, you get a boyfriend?" Chris glared at her, crossing his arms. "Payback for Claire-bear, Chris. I know you love that Jill woman." She grinned at him as the glare intensified. "Your blushing, bro. No really, thanks. Now I don't have to mess with detergent. Last time I did laundry I bleached your jeans white."   
  


"I thought that was payback for something."   
  


She fingered through her hair. "It probably was, come to think of it. A shame, because I was going to steal those jeans and make cut-offs." Her fingers hit some knots that refused to yield to the manipulative fingers. Her brother tossed her a comb from across the room. It worked like magic in the tangled locks.   
  


"We won't be able to stay here, Claire. If Umbrella is looking for us, they can at least track me by my credit card."   
  


Blue eyes gazed at him thoughtfully. "What then?"   
  


"I don't know. Get jobs--something. If they find us now then its over for everyone." Chris put his head in his hands. Something told his sister that he'd been thinking about this since she laid down for a nap--or it woke him up from one of his own. "I could catch a ride to Columbus," he continued, planning out loud, "--use my card at some hotel there and make them think that we're moving around. I'd really like to sit on my ass for awhile."   
  


"If you knew they could track us, then why--"   
  


"We needed somewhere to sleep--especially you."   
  


Claire bit her lip and fidgeted with her gloves from her seat on the bed. Her eyes stared at the floor as though it contained some answer. 'I'm causing him trouble again. He's always saving me, or taking care of me.' She wondered now if it would have been better if she had stayed out of this whole mess.   
  


"I know what you're thinking, sis. It's not your fault. Shit happens."   
  


Chris' foot thudded against the wall. She could hear it. He was definitely agitated, and she herself had no idea what to do. It didn't help that they were in a new city where they know absolutely no one. There was no one to take them in or hide them. On their own to fend for themselves--shelter, food, water--damn. Umbrella had them screwed.   
  


"Aw, Hell," muttered Chris. "Umbrella owns this city for crying out loud. I think we stepped in it this time."   
  


"No ... maybe we're safer than we think. I mean, they can't think we're so stupid as to actually stay near one of Umbrella's major headquarters ... again. They're expecting us to trek back to Paris. I bet they're watching the airports more than the damn hotels, and the only airport in Midfield Valley is private. They'll be watching Port Columbus or Cincinnati, Chris. Fake plane tickets could bail us out."   
  


Chris started massaging his temples. Claire stared at him for a few minutes. He was stressed--too stressed, and as far as she was concerned the brunette was in no condition to making any decisions. She was taking over.   
  


"Let's pack up and go for a hike," she finally said. "If Umbrella finds our room, then we won't be here to find."   
  


Chris looked up. "Without checking out?"   
  


Claire grinned, we have the room for the weekend. That's two whole days where Umbrella police might be confused."   
  


***   
  


Midfield Valley, Ohio   
  
  
  
  
  


Alexis Quenby had done the full tour by 2:45--picking up the motorcycle she'd intructed Valeris to have waiting for her when she arrived in Midfield Valley. She'd picked it up before she began her tour, which started with the city's schools, nursing homes, and hospital. All she had left to locate were the local cememeteries.   
  


The woman sped down the highway in her uniform, helmet-free. In the pale blue Captain's uniform she looked more like a cop than an Umbrella-employee, though considering S.T.A.R.S. relationship to local law enforcement, the image didn't matter that much. Alex hated the color. She thought it made her look like a pansy, which for some ungodly reason were blooming this time of year. Pansies ...   
  


She adjusted her sungoggles with one hand wondering why the hell it was sixty degrees Farenheit in January. When she'd asked Jo before she left, the brunette had just responded with: "It's Ohio," as though the weather were the most normal thing in the world.   
  


At the west end of town the blond biker slowed down. There were three cemeteries near Midfield Valley, and all were on the outer edges of the city. She was looking for the cemetery here on the west side of town, the same side of town where Valeris Davenport resided--when he chose to come to the mansion where his second wife and eleven year old son lived.   
  


Alex turned onto Bennington Chapel Road from Main Street. It was a short jog from there to the large graveyard--which had been fairly expansive before the town grew into the mammoth corporate blackhole it was now. She parked and idled the motor to a stop, mentally noting the locations of the other cemeteries yet again--one on State Route 37 near their neighbor, Johnstown, and one near the S.T.A.R.S. dilapidated headquarters near the Delaware County border. The latter was a small cemetery, not used since the early 1900s, however, being located to her current base of operations the blond decided it was important as well.   
  


The woman dismounted her bike and began to walk aimlessly through the headstones. She had come over soley to find the place visually, but somehow the varying names and dates and stories of the epitaphs always held her captive for a few minutes longer than necessary. Infant deaths, veterans, old soldiers, the 40s--now, those were troubled times.   
  


"Father said I'd never see you at home, and yet here is Alexis Quenby, wandering around in a graveyard, alone."   
  


Alex bristled and turned around. "What th-" She stopped herself and looked at the speaker. He sat atop a mausoleum like a raven, dressed in black. It was a boy, maybe eleven, but possibly younger, with a face that rarely saw the sun and pale, limp blond hair. He had blue eyes, but they had a dull look to them. However, that seemed to be from general ill-health rather than stupidity. The spindly legs swung back and forth, black shoes shining in the strange, January sun.   
  


"Alfred Davenport?"   
  


The boy nodded a confirmation, and Alex shook her head. He looked more ill than he had when she had first met him in Paris. He had been visiting his busy father, Valeris, despite seeming constantly like he was going to drop dead on the spot. He never had, though. The boy, as far as she knew, had a severe case of anemia, and had been born a year before Alexander Ashford's untimely death. As a gesture of admiration and generalized brown-nosing, Valeris' son had been named after the 9 year old Alfred Ashford, one of Alexander's twin children.   
  


At any rate, that was the way Mr. Davenport had explained it, however according to rumors the story went on, and when Alexander died, it was Valeris with two other unknown executives, that guided young Alfred in his actions as head of the Umbrella Corporation. His own son, had been ignored and neglected.   
  


"Have you been to the hospital recently?"   
  


"No, why?"   
  


The boy hopped from his perch on the mausoleum top. Alex resisted the urge to try and catch him. He looked like he were some kind of glass doll that would break at any wrong movement. However, like any kid, he hit the ground with a thud, ignoring potential bruises and standing upright again as though he'd landed on two feet. After that, Alfred proceeded in dusting himself off, watching the dust fly in the air as he smacked at it.   
  


"You have a S.T.A.R.S. uniform, Alex. Do you have a death wish?"   
  


The woman rolled her eyes. "You can take that up with your Daddy when he's home."   
  


"He's never home. Not now. I believe he thinks I'm a grave disappointment."   
  


"Then when he calls." She looked around. "Since when do you frequent cemeteries?"   
  


"Since Mum died. I like to listen to the dead people."   
  


"Ever hear the phrase, 'dead men tell no tales?' It's because dead people don't talk!"   
  


"You're a fool."   
  


"And you're an ass."   
  


"Mum heard that!"   
  


"Yeah, well for your information, ass means donkey means stubborn, Alfred." She paused. "Just don't tell you Step-Mother, and if you do, I didn't tell you--not that it matters."   
  


The boy walked closer and grabbed Alex with a cold hand. An eerie smile crossed his lips and his eyes seemed brighter for a moment. There was something unusual about Alfred Davenport ... something she'd felt both times she'd met him.   
  


"They're coming," he murmured.   
  


"Who?"   
  


"The undead."   
  


Alex shuddered. A sharp, chilling wind picked up through the trees. The sound reminded her of the Irish tales of bashees. Her arm prickled where the slender fingers touched them. "You're joking with me, right, Alfred?"   
  


The eleven year old just stared at her like he didn't know what a joke was. The woman looked at the headstones around her. Suddenly, they seemed to have eyes and ears. Alex grabbed the boy by the shoulders.   
  


"Follow me and I'll give you a ride home."   
  


"Okay, Alex."   
  


The blond walked back to her motorcycle and lifted him onto the seat pad. "You hang onto me when I climb on." The boy nodded, so she mounted and started the motor. As she rode back onto Main Street toward the mansion, she thought of what Alfred Davenport had said.   
  


There was something unholy about the words:   
  


"They're coming ... The undead."   
  


***   
  


Umbrella Headquarters, Paris, France   
  
  
  


"As you can see, there are no visible anomolies in the tissue structure, Mr. Davenport, but-"   
  


Valeris looked at the Japanese scientist in front of him and raised a shaggy eyebrow. "But?"   
  


The man, who qualified to Umbrella as both scientist and medical doctor, pinned two more pictures onto the light table. Both were in full color, however, one showed an open gash and the other showed the seaming scab of the same healing, yet scarring wound.   
  


"This is the 'but'. The picture on the left was taken when Miss Quenby first arrived in Quarantine, thoroughly infected with the T-virus. This, of course, is only a small section of where the Licker Monster's claws razed her body from her lower abdomen to her upper back. As you can see there has been some definite muscle action."   
  


"That is not unusual, Dr. Fujimoto."   
  


"No, it is not. However, the second photo is of the same wound three days later--with no suturing. That healing time is not humanly possible even with stitches."   
  


"After effects of the T-virus attempting to mutate, perhaps?"   
  


"No such luck, otherwise, that virus would practically be a medical breakthrough. Unfortunately, the T-virus only promotes decay in such wounds, making this phenomenon even more unusual. She should have mutated with the virus. However, even if there had been no T-virus infection, any normal human being would have taken weeks to arrive at this healed state. After that there would be the necessity for extensive physical therapy, and 6 out of 10 individuals would never be in the same physical shape that they were to begin with. She walked out of quarantine in less than a week with no such therapy."   
  


Valeris scratched his chin. A slight stubble was growing there, as he was debating for the thousandth time whether or not to grow a beard.   
  


"You ought to do a background check on her," the scientist continued. "If you just sent one of Umbrella's top-secret projects to--"   
  


The old man motioned the docor to be silent. "As far as I know, she's some other corporations guinea pig, and she's either tight-lipped about it, or doesn't know herself. I will do nothing concerning the situation of Alex Quenby until I have more evidence from the Genetic Department. Now do you have anything else to add?"   
  


"Only that her body produces an unusually high level of T-cells."   
  


"Thank you Dr. Fujimoto. That will be all."   
  


The Asian man began collecting the photos, X-rays, and files from the room. He fastened them together with a paper clip and returned them to the manila folder from that he pulled them from. This he offered to Valeris Davenport. The aged man took them and smiled gently at the medical doctor. "You are the only one of your staff who worked on these smaples?"   
  


The man nodded, running his hands through his hair. "I was the primary attendent with her in the Quarantine. Two nurses worked with her also, but I managed to convince them that Alex died from a comination of her wounds and the virus."   
  


The smiled on the man's face broadened to utter delight. "Thank you for being such a loyal employee, Dr. Fujimoto." The mane walked to the doorway, straight cane clicking on the vinyl flooring. He stepped out of the room and hit the emergency button on the keypad with his cane. Behind him, the conference room locked down, metal doors dropping with randomly spaced clangs. Valeris keyed something in with his bony finger and gas began to contaminate the room. Dr. Fujimoto pounded desperately on the glass window for the executive to let him out, but another steel door cut him off. The old man waved into the room.   
  


"Have a nice day."   
  


When the doctor was thoroughly cut off from view, the executive walked back toward the elevators. Umbrella's contamination crew rush by as he mounted the elevator. As the machine whirred upward to the main floor, he just smiled calmly to himself, eying his reflection in the mirror-like steel. Clicking his cane on the floor, the man returned to his main floor office. His secretary eyed him strangely, but asked no questions as Valeris walked through the double doors, humming some random lullubye he'd heard the Ashford twins singing years ago. It really was a shame about Alexia. She would have made a brilliant executive or scientist--she would have been a brilliant anything.   
  


He walked to the right of the room and with precision inserted the embossed hand of his cane into a matching circle on the drawer of his bookcase. It opened soundlessly to reveal a stash of several filing folders. The word "Berceuse" came into view and then was quickly displaced as the new folder was inserted.   
  


The drawer closed with a muffled thud. The old man went back to his chair, and turned away from his desk to face his view of Paris, still humming softly to himself.   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Midfield Valley, Davenport Estate   
  
  
  


Alex's motorcycle puttered to a stop at the mansion doorstep. Alfred had gotten on the intercom at the gate by the road to buzz himself in and spare himself the walk. The woman was now glad she had let the eleven year old do it rather than saying, "Walk, it builds character." It was a lot longer ride from the road to the mansion than she had suspected and for all she knew the walk would have killed the boy.   
  


She dismounted and helped Alfred from his seat, taking a long look around. The estate was a huge horse farm with extensive pastures and several barns--all white with green tiled roofing. The barns themselves were long structures, and outside sleek, blanket-clad horses were sniffing the ground for leftover autumn grass or munching hay from bins. From far away she could see a tiny figure perched atop a large pony. She cantered across the arena at a brave pace. The blond wondered at the girl, because as far as she knew, Alfred was Valeris' only son. She squinted and thought she caught the glint of golden hair, however she wasn't sure.   
  


"Who's that, Alfred?"   
  


The boy looked at the rider, then back to Alex, then back to the rider. He shifted his stance uncomfortably. "That's my cousin," he mumbled.   
  


"Funny, I can't think of Valeris mentioning siblings. Nor anyone else for that matter."   
  


"She's from my mother's side," he spat out quickly.   
  


Alex eyed the boy for a moment with suspicious blue eyes. The boy did not return her gaze and only fidgeted more uncomfortably. The woman would have asked him more questions, but the butler came out the front door.   
  


"Young master Alfred, there you are. Mrs. Davenport has been searching for you everywhere." The butler scolded the boy with his finger, and then eyed the blond woman suspiciously from down his nose. "Who is this?"   
  


"A friend of father's," he retorted. "He sent her to protect the city."   
  


The man laughed, it was nasal and whining. "Yes, well, we'll see about that."   
  


Alex would have punched him then and there if she were not afraid that it would tilt his unfortunate nose a few degrees higher. Her voice came like ice through her gritted teeth when she spoke to him: "My team and I will protect this city, even those who don't deserve protecting, because if we can't I don't see anyone else coming to save you--least of all, yourself." The woman stalked back to her bike. "Mind your family, Alfred," she growled as she mounted. The motorcycle sped down the drive with a slight roar as the two watched from the porch of the brick mansion.   
  


"That kind of rudeness is exactly why you are not to associate with the people of this town, young master Alfred."   
  


"Yes, William."   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Midfield Valley, East Side   
  
  
  


"We must be over a mile from the hotel, Claire, can we stop walking?"   
  


"You know, Chris, you're the last person I'd expect to complain about a little excercise."   
  


Chris dug in his coat pocket for a cigarette and his sister death glared him. "We're outside. Christ, can't I have a smoke?"   
  


"Not around me, you can't."   
  


Claire skipped, bouncing her backpack up on her shoulders. It was loaded with both her new and old clothes, some items left over from Anartica, plus a few more items that she'd "borrowed" courtesy of the hotel. Her new coat was unzipped and she was sweating from the unusually mild temperatures.   
  


She turned her head toward her brother, raising her eyebrows. "Does this feel like January to you?" Chris shook his head. His sister sighed. "Still, I wish I'd had this coat in Antarctica. I still can't believe I didn't ultimately freeze to death."   
  


"You had Steve to keep you warm." Claire looked at her older brother mournfully, biting her lower lip. "Sorry, bad joke."   
  


The red-head scuffed her feet on the sidewalk looking down at her shoes. For the second time that day Chris had inadvertently upset his sister. The brunette man knew it hurt her. She'd hated leaving Steve's body in that base. A tear trickled down the young woman's cheek and hung on her chin. Chris wiped it off gently with a finger.   
  


"I'm a jerk. I forgot you were trying not to think about that."   
  


"It's okay," she whispered.   
  


"No, I should be more sensitive."   
  


Claire raised her head. Her blue eyes were wet, but she tried to smile. She hooked her arm around Chris' and leaned on him. "I forgive you. Where are we?"   
  


The older man looked around. The street was lined with several apartments, some houses, and a few store fronts--most abandoned. "Must be close to the eastern edge of town."   
  


"Looks a little broken down."   
  


Chris nodded. A brick house stood on the right hand side of them. It was a strange house that looked like a cross between a townhouse and a store. It was three stories, but the third looked like an attic that would have sloped walls. A couple of the windows were boarded up where the glass had been broken, yet not replaced, and the door was wide open. The siblings looked at each other, then walked toward the strange old house. The could hear a sweeper running and over it a female voice singing.   
  


"1-2-3 O'clock, 4 O'clock. Rock! 

5-6-7 O'clock, 8 O'clock. Rock! 

9-10-11 O'clock, 12 O'clock. Rock! 

We're gonna rock around the clock tonight!"   
  


Chris knocked on the doorframe, however the sweeper continued to run.   
  


"Rock around the clock tonight. 

We're gonna rock rock rock 

'Till the broad daylight--"   
  


He knocked again, louder this time. The sweeper went dead and the singing stopped. The light footsteps of small, shoed feet came toward the door. A brunette head poked out the door and smiled at them.   
  


"Helloooo?"   
  


"Hello, the house looked deserted, but then we heard your singing and--"he stumbled around for words so as not to appear nosy. No such luck. Fortunately for Chris, however, the young woman waved him off, sparing him the embaressment of speaking any further. She stepped from behind the door to the doorway and the Redfields practically fell over with shock. She was wearing a S.T.A.R.S. uniform.   
  


Claire was the first to semi-collect her wits. "We didn't know there was a S.T.A.R.S. team here in the city."   
  


"Oh, we're a training group. Umbrella just assigned us. I think I may be one of only two people who's actually had training here." Brown eyes observed the flushed and sweating faces of the two siblings. "You look a little drained, you want to come in? The place is a mess still, but I made some iced tea. You can have some if you like."   
  


Chris shook his head. "We should really keep go-"   
  


"No, I insist!" She motioned them inside.   
  


"Thanks," the red-headed woman said, stepping through the doorway before her brother could mouth another word of protest.   
  


The house was cleaner than either of them expected, likely due to the diligent work of the young woman who'd invited them in. She motioned now to a couple counches that appeared to be left over from the 70s era of strange greens and bright orange. "You can sit there. Uh, this was the furniture the place came with, so I hope its okay. Umbrella's supposed to be sending some more institutional stuff." She rolled her eyes, figuring that the choice would be between ugly or uncomfortable.   
  


Chris laughed. "No problem, a chair's a chair," he said and flopped down. From the sounds of it, this was the only place Umbrella would dig up for their newest S.T.A.R.S. team--no big surprise, considering. The young woman left the room and came back with two glasses of iced tea.   
  


"Here you go. By the way, I'm Jo Sullivan."   
  


"I'm ... Veronica Kennedy."   
  


Chris rolled his eyes. Could Claire have picked a more ridiculous name for herself? "I'm Chris, her brother." The older man thought he felt eyes on the side of his head. He smiled to himself as he downed his glass of tea. Let her glare, he wasn't making up a stupid fake name just to humor her.   
  


Jo looked at her clipboard laying on the other couch. "Hmmm ... I was hoping you were on this list, but it looks like you're not. I would have figured on at least one of these guys getting here this early." She discarded the papers back to the couch and sat down herself, eying the sweeper across the room. When it didn't turn on via telepathy, she returned her gaze to the siblings. There was something about th--she got it!   
  


"Hey, I saw you two Uptown today. I remember because I had this weird feeling of deja vu. And then you two were so dirty--oh, I shouldn't have said that." The woman clapped her hand over her mouth and both of the Redfields laughed.   
  


"It's alright," said Chris. "We were taking a winter hike across parts of the state. When it got so warm and muddy we obviously ran into trouble."   
  


"Its a great state for hiking. You been in the Southern half yet? The Hocking Hills are gorgeous this time of year."   
  


"No," Claire broke in. "We started a ways north of here not to long ago--New Years resolution."   
  


"Lookin' for dates," her brother added with a sly grin. Claire was going to kill him later.   
  


The brunette woman grinned, bobbing her head. "Gotcha." Jo got up and grabbed herself a cup of tea. She eyed Chris for a moment, unable to get over the fact that such a pleasant, blue-eyed specimen of a man was sitting there talking to her. This one was going in her diary ...   
  


"So, here's a funny story for you. I was out with the Captain today and she could have sworn that she knew you from something important."   
  


Chris and Claire eyed each other nervously. "Is your captain tall, blonde, and incredibly manly?" the red-head questioned.   
  


"Yes."   
  


The older man laughed. "And you though she was checking you out." Claire smacked him. "Ow, C-areful."   
  


You two saw us then. I'm so embaressed."   
  


The woman smiled. "No, its okay. We were staring too ... You weren't in uniform then."   
  


"Hadn't picked them up yet. We'd just got in from Paris--you know I don't know who's ruder, the Franch or Umbrella--though I guess speaking French would help ..."   
  


Chris made a motion to get up from his seat. "Mind if I go outside and smoke?"   
  


"I don't mind," said Jo.   
  


The man waited for Claire to respond. She waved him off. "Go," she grumbled. He strode across the room and shut the door behind him.   
  


"Can't stand smoking?"   
  


"I hate it. He told me he'd quit."   
  


The brunette fingered her ponytail, feeling the way the strands pulled back smoothly. "If my brother even tried one cigarette, I'd smack him upside the head with that sweeper."   
  


"Oh god, do you need to get back to your sweeping?"   
  


"It can wait."   
  


"No really, you're waiting on your team to show up too, how inconsiderate of me. I'll just finish this wonderful tea and get my brother and I out of your hair."   
  


"It's okay, really. It's nice to have company other than Alex. She's so bitter and cynical some days that I want to scream."   
  


Claire stopped twitching and made herself comfortable. They'd leave when Chris was done smoking. She eyed the empty glass where he had downed the amber liquid in seconds. "He drinks like a horse."   
  


"I think its a man thing." Jo paused. "So how long will you be in town."   
  


The red-head shrugged. "I'm not really sure. We've been hiking around so much we could really use a break, so ... Well, I'd like to stop and rest for a while, anyways."   
  


"Well, if you need a place to stay, let me know. I went to college here and there are always a few nice people around willing to put someone up."   
  


"Thanks, I appreciate it." It was the first good news Claire had heard all day.   
  


"No problem at all, Veronica." The young woman scrawled a number onto a post-it note and handed it to the red-head. "That's my cell-phone. If you need anything don't hesitate to give me a ring."   
  


The blue eyes widened. "Thanks again. I didn't know there were trusting people left anywhere in the world today."   
  


"I pride myself in my excellent judge of character."   
  


The door opened and Chris returned, looking very much relieved. "Done."   
  


Claire nodded. "Well, Jo, we really should be going. Nice meeting you, and thanks for everything."   
  


"Anytime. Come and visit--or call me!"   
  


The Redfields waved back through the door. Jo watched, grinning for a moment, then disappeared. The sweeper started again.   
  


"They did the Mash--They did the Monster Mash 

The Monster Mash--It was a Gravyard smash. 

They did the Mash-it caught on in a flash 

They did the Mash-they did the Monster Mash 

Wa-ooooooo ..."   
  


Claire laughed and pulled at her brother's bag. "That was a pleasant surprise. Now aren't you glad I kept you walking?"   
  


"What, for iced tea and a smoke?"   
  


"And her number and a potential place to stay. We now have connections."   
  


Chris stopped for a minute and watched his sister keep walking, shaking his head. The red-head really had changed--she was a lot more bossy.   
  


***   
  


Midfield Valley, a few doors down   
  
  
  


Petra wasn't certain whether she was glad to be back in her own house or not. She lay sprawled on the couch in the living room, listening to the grandfather clock go tick-tock overhead. Her stomach hurt from where the frost bite was still healing. It covered the white of her abdomen in red blotches, with little purple patches mixed in for extra flavor. She hoped the damned thing wouldn't scar. She'd hate to get a new wardrobe of baggy, long T-shirts now. The woman poked her stomach with a naked finger and winced. Not good.   
  


The clock chimed the half hour and echoed through the two-story house. It was so quiet without her family around. The silence pushed in on her temples. It was practically overwhelming. Suddenly, she heard voices outside. The green-haired woman sat up and listened to the strange sound. Her house was so far outside of town that practically no one passed by but a few stray cows that escaped from their pasture every other week. The voices were welcome in her mind, as she had felt that her head was about to explode from the general lack of noise.   
  


Petra stood and walked to the window, peeking from behind the curtain with her contact-colored eyes. At first, she couldn't see anything, but slowly two figures appeared and began crossing the lawn in front of the house. The woman couldn't believe who it was.   
  


"Holy shit," she exclaimed, rubbing her eyes.   
  


Petra ran to the doorway, despite her protesting epidermis. She opened the door, fighting with the storm door until it unlatched and she could escaped onto the porch. She grabbed a column with one arm and slid around the steps.   
  


"Hey, Redfields!"   
  


The two stopped dead in their tracks like two fugitives and stared at the green-haired woman in dismay. The looks on their faces said plainly, " I hope to God she's not from Umbrella."   
  


TBC in Chapter 4. 


	4. Hell's Angels

Heaven Can Wait   
  


Kasage Starrunner   
  


Disclaimer: Resident Evil and all characters, settings, monsters, and corporations associated with the game series and the movie are © Capcom and its affiliates. The author has no association with any of these companies.   
  


All other characters and creations are © Kasage Starrunner. The author would like to note that Petra Cross, (Jo Sullivan, possibly) and Adrian Rhoades are part of a joint game project with her and friends, and that Petra will also be used in a collaborative mange started by Mangaworkshop.net. Also, the character Alex Quenby is based on her character, Quenby Andries from the Infinite Spiral Manga saga. Other character associations will be mentioned as necessary.   
  


Also, feel free to correct my Resident Evil knowledge. I want to be accurate. Suggestions on that account are encouraged.   
  


Author's Notes are available after the chapter.   
  


A Cast List will shortly be available at my site, Let Me Live::   
  


http://geocities.com/lukleia/claire.html   
  


Warnings: Violence (as typical for Resident Evil), profanity (the worst namely on the part of Petra)--more warnings will be added if necessary.   
  


Chapter Four: Hell's Angels   
  
  
  


Midfield Valley, East Side   
  
  
  


Petra launched herself from the steps, landing five feet away from the Redfield siblings. They still stood in shock at the abrupt announcement of their names, having done their best to keep those identities a secret from noon to the present. However, this turn of events obviously proved their efforts to have been useless.   
  


Chris lowered his eyebrows at the woman and, raising his fists, put himself between the youth he deemed a threat and his "baby" sister, Claire. "What do you want?" he growled through clenched teeth.   
  


Petra remained unperterbed, taking the man's stare as though her were a kitten. Her eyes looked through him to the red-head, sensing the older Redfield's rising temper. The pale hands raised palms out in a gesture to try and quell Chris' protective fury, even though her own temper was rising. "Just get in the house, dammit. I don't want a scene in the middle of the yard."   
  


Chris planted his feet more firmly in the ground. Claire's fingers dug into his shoulders. "She's right. We can't draw attention to ourselves," she whispered.   
  


"Who the hell are you?" Chris spat, ignoring his sister.   
  


"Someone who hates Umbrella," hissed the woman. Her eyes appeared to flash for a moment as the wind rustled her hair. Claire saw a familiar, stubborn look on her face--the same one that both of the Redfield's used far too often, and she relaxed a little.   
  


"I'll go with you," the red-head said.   
  


Chris grunted, but when Petra started limping up the steps toward the door, he followed. Both of the siblings took note of her condition and the tension released more. It was obvious that the green-haired youth was in no mood to put up a fight. Claire doubted she'd called the Umbrella police because of this. However, the question of how the young woman was hurt stood out in her mind. Observant blue eyes spied the ugly remains of frost-bite across her abdomen. The red-head raised an eyebrow at Chris. How had she gotten such fresh frost-bite when it was obviously so warm?   
  


Petra shut the door behind them and then flopped back on the couch, resisting the urge to yelp at the pain. "Sit if you want--I don't care." The woman tilted her feet up on the arm of the couch and watched them. The stubborn look on her face had faded, but a bitterness remained. Now Chris' face was the stubborn one. No one in the room was exactly certain what to do concerning the strange and uncomfortable situation. As Petra's action was purely spontaneous she had not planned anything to say, so now all three were staring at each other suspiciously. The two siblings remained standing.   
  


Petra curled her lip, but finally couldn't resist the urge to just speak her mind. "I don't know what the hell possessed you to come to this Umbrella whorehouse of a city, but to be walking around the city in broad daylight is fucking stupid."   
  


At this, the battle again became the punk's and Chris'. He swung around glaring. "You dragged us here to tell us this! How do you even know who we are."   
  


"You've been on the fucking news for three months. Claire disappeared off it awhile back, but some people don't forget the faces off of Umbrella's Most Wanted very quickly. There are some out there who would help you, but you're in deep shit if the wrong person discovers who you are. And it doesn't matter whether they're friends of Umbrella, or just payed off."   
  


"Where do you fall, you little bitch?"   
  


Claire clapped her hand over her mouth. "Chris!"   
  


"Stay out of this, Claire."   
  


The clock ticked from the wall and the air got heavier. Petra sat up on the couch, her face glowering. "You listen to me and you listen close," she hissed. "I hate Umbrella. I hate their products. I hate their employees. I hate their owners. And I hate fucking zombies!" The two stared at each other unblinking for a few moments. Finally, Chris broke away.   
  


"Join the club ..." he muttered.   
  


Meanwhile, Claire was looking at a picture on the wall. It was of the woman and what she could only assume was her parents and brother. She glanced around but there was nothing to be seen of them. The red-head's mind wandered. What happened to them? Did it have something to do with the frostbite.   
  


"Look, maybe I shouldn't have yelled at you both like that, but would you rather I had ignored you and let Umbrella do what they will?"   
  


Claire breathed a sigh of relief. "It's okay, but for a moment there we thought you were Umbrella."   
  


The green haired youth looked over at the other woman as though she didn't trust her words. However, the look of malice slowly faded to a blank, tired stare, similar to how Claire looked in the mirror when she had gotten to Midfield Valley--Chris too. It made her question whether the bitterness was due to the woman's personality, or some stress involving her family and the frostbite.   
  


"Hey, you know our names, but we don't know yours. That isn't exactly--"   
  


"Fair, Claire? I guess you're right." She fingered one of her earrings. "My name's Petra Cross."   
  


"The she-devil has a name," grumbled Chris.   
  


Claire rolled her eyes. "You'll have to forgive my ass of a brother. He hasn't had enough cancer-sticks today."   
  


Petra smirked. "He thinks that's bad--I went cold turkey a month ago."   
  


"Ouch." The sympathetic tone in the man's voice was real. "I tried that, but then Raccoon City happened."   
  


"That oughta do it." She eyed Chris up and down for a moment. "Listen, I'm still off them--could you ... pretend you don't ... Do you?" Her voice trailed off. The thought of a cigarette was very enticing right now, which made her irritable again. "Fucking hell."   
  


Chris motioned to his pocket and Claire smacked him. "Stop that, she's trying to quit."   
  


"She wants one."   
  


"Like hell I do, but I won't ... I won't ... Dammit, give me one. I've been through hell!"   
  


The man fingered his precious pack of cigarettes and raised and eyebrow. "That hell have something to do with your frostbite?"   
  


"That's none of your business, you ass!"   
  


"Such language for a lady."   
  


Petra visibly shuddered. "Shut the fuck up."   
  


Claire clapped her hand to her forehead. This was not happening. Someone tell her that her brother wasn't acting like and complete and total bastard. She peeked through her fingers, but he was still taunting Petra with the cigarettes. She dropped her backpack to the floor and put her hands on her hips. The scene continued.   
  


"Tell me more, and you can have one."   
  


"Damn you, why'd you have to mention cigarettes. You didn't seem like such a motherfuckin' son-of-a-bitch in your wanted pictures."   
  


Chris just laughed, so the woman lunged at him, now furious beyond belief. Her hands missed his shoulders and she collapsed to the floor in a lump. "Fuck," she muttered and looked up at him, glaring. He gave no sign of conceding, so she pulled herself back up onto the couch, muttering several more creative explitives along the way. "Ah, fuckit--gimme one and I'll you guys can stay here--as long as you need to. Swear to god!"   
  


Claire looked up again and her ponytail bounced. "You mean that?"   
  


"Yes--hell, it's too fucking quiet in here anyway."   
  


'How many times can she use that word," thought Claire.   
  


Chris tossed the woman a cigarette. "Here. Need a light?"   
  


"Got a zippo. Bedrooms are upstairs. Mine's the one with the Biohazard symbol on it. Pick one of the others and drop your shit off there."   
  


"Uh ... thanks," Claire replied uncertainly.   
  


Petra waved them off and lit up, breathing in the smoke like aromatherapy. "Honestly, no more tomorrow," she whispered to herself, leaving the two Redfields to unpack their things upstairs.   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Midfield Valley, S.T.A.R.S. Headquarters   
  
  
  


Much to Jo's delight, the team members began arriving shortly after the "Kennedy's" started on their way again. When she spied the first person coming nervously up the sidewalk she put away her sweeper and set about observing the newcomers as they entered and slowly began interacting with one another.   
  


The first knock was timid. Jo opened the door and opted after that to leave it open to help destroy its vacant outer appearance. The short woman on the stoop greeted her with a slight wave and forced smile. Her gray eyes flashed around the room uncertainly as her small fingers ran through her short, black hair. With her other hand, she adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses on her nose. "Mm, hello. I'm Annette Riddle," she said, with a slight New Zealand accent. "I hope I'm not too early."   
  


The brunette checked her off, smiling. "Not at all. I'm Jo Sullivan, second-in-command. Your uniform is labled on the hanger. Pick it out and put it on in the bathroom--make sure you lock the door." Annette nodded and walked off to obey her instructions, still fiddling with her hair.   
  


This same scenario was repeated as each of the new members entered. First after Annette, was a man called Martin Hawk--a 35 year old Navajo ex-sheriff. He was followed by the Japanese Jiro Matsumoto, who bowed and said nothing. He was followed by a timid Russian college graduate, Tatyana Baranovskaya and former Scottland Yard member Clive Hargrove. A few minutes later, three trainees arrived together-- the local polynesian youth Bevan Kaie, Outback veteran Brett Davis, and the home-grown Audrey Summerfield. Last but not least, Seth Thomas and Raquel Velazquez knocked and entered. The former was an african-american from the Columbus Police Academy, and the latter a Cuban immigrant sponsored by the Umbrella Corporation. Those two were already in a heated discussion about the Corporation, which Jo opted to ignore.   
  


It was 3:55 where there were only two people left on her list. The second-in-command looked around the room at the uniformed S.T.A.R.S. trainees, wondering exactly where Alex was and what was taking her so long. "It's almost four," she mumbled to herself.   
  


Just then more knocking came at the door. Jo practically ran to get it. "That's either Adrian, Derek, or Alex." The wind had conspired to shut the door, so she opened it, her face smiling until she caught the look on the face that greeted her. She blinked at the man, who was a little more than angry looking with his thin green eyes and ruddy hair. He had a slight beard which darkened his face immensely. All in all he gave Jo a suspicious feeling in her stomach.   
  


"I'm Jo Sullivan, second-in-command, and you are?"   
  


"Derek Marlowe." He crossed his hands over his chest and said nothing else. The brunette bit her lip apprehensively, but checked him off anyways, giving the man the same instructions as the others. He returned in uniform and stood silent in the corner.   
  


Jo looked at her watch--it was 3:59. 'Still no Adrian ... Or captain for that matter,' she thought. She was starting to get worried whether either would show.   
  


That worry was soon discarded as they heard the roaring sound of an engine pulling in the small drive and stopping. The door opened just as the hour turned to 4:00 and Alex Quenby marched in.   
  


"It is now exactly four o'clock in the afternoon. Set your watches." The standing and sitting team members stared at her, practically dumbfounded. "Now." They set their watches. The tall woman strode to the center of the room and stood beside Jo. "My name is Alex Quenby. You will call me Captain or sir unless your name is Jo Sullivan. You may not call me Quenby. You may not call me Alex. And you may not call me ma'am. I hope, for your safety, that this is understood."   
  


The slate blue eyes turned to the brunette second-in-command. "Who's missing, Sullivan?"   
  


The young woman felt the change to professional attitude and adjusted herself accordingly. "A Mr. Adrian Rhodes, age 19, residing at the University Apartment Complex."   
  


"There had better be a good reason that he is late to this first session. Good reason= death in the family or severe illness."   
  


"Sir, he's only a minute late."   
  


"If I am here and you are not, then you are late, because I am exactly on time. Give me his address."   
  


"You could ca--"   
  


"I will pick him up personally." Seth and Derek snickered. Alex looked at them with a raised eyebrow. "It will, of course, be funny until you do something wrong, which, from the sounds of your snickering, will be shortly. Address, Sullivan."   
  


Jo held out the paper with Adrian's employee information. Alex took it, read it, then gave it back to her. She looked at the trainees and addressed them. "You would do well to introduce yourselves to each other while I am gone. We are already weeks behind thanks to the lack of competance of not only your employer, but now also your friend Adrian. Expect an early wake-up call some time this week." With that, she strutted out of the room, leaving a layer of ice between the people bother standing and sitting in it. The motorcycle roared and sped off, while the teammates stared at each other, blinking.   
  


Seth Thomas looked around the room and grinned. "Well, she's a pleasant bitch, ain't she?"   
  


"Don't talk about the captain that way," Jo scolded. "At least, not in front of me."   
  


"Shit, woman, I don't have to listen to you. You're no bigger than my pinkie."   
  


"Don't make me kick your ass, Thomas."   
  


The man gave her a broad grin and raised his hands in surrender. "It's cool--I'm just joshin' you. You're alright, Sullivan."   
  


"I glad, because your life'd be living hell if there was a mutual lack of affection with both of your superiors."   
  


The Cuban woman stood up, fists raised. "Yeah, but the Captain's got a lot of nerve, being holier-than-thou when she was almost late herself. People like me were nearly late over a bad plane schedule."   
  


"Actually, Raquel, she wasn't late. She was exactly on time, as she said," put in Annette. "My watch timer has been atomically set to the exact time. I'd assume that hers is as well."   
  


"Oh, and you're so much smarter than me, Miss Riddle?"   
  


"I implied nothing of the sort--otherwise Umbrella would have actually hired me as a researcher. I was only illustrating why you should not be so quick to condescend. She's our Captain for a reason."   
  


The ruddy haired Derek raised an eyebrow, preparing his firebomb. "And how did she get that job? By kissing Umbrella's ass like old Captain Albert Wesker?" This set off a flurry of responses, as the man had obviously intended. Immediately, the whole group of trainees were forced to decide, either vocally or mentally, whether to associate Alex Quenby with Albert Wesker or not. A mistrust erupted in the already uneasy group as they argued. To tell the truth only four people didn't get involved--Brett and Audrey were far too casual to actually care and Tatyana and Jiro just kept their mouths shut altogether, either out of shyness or common sense.   
  


Jo actually thought things were going pretty well.   
  


Alex returned through the door, dragging a rather disgruntled young man in behind her. She let him go once he was inside, but her grip left a white mark on his bare arm. She patted him on the head, patronizing him. "It seems our friend Adrian here felt the need to take a late afternoon nap in his underpants."   
  


Even Jo couldn't help but giggle at the sight of the brown haired man now. He was clad in only his boxers and his house robe. The boxers had smiley faces all over them--the house robe, aliens. His chest was bare and coated in the dust from the road and his legs were white and goose-pimpled from the winter air. The blushing youth, however, did not see the comedy in his appearance.   
  


"May I change, sir?" he mumbled.   
  


"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. Was that mouse-speak?"   
  


"I said, may I change, please?"   
  


Alex stroked her chin. "That's funny you asked, because if you had gotten here on time like the rest of the recruits, you would have been given a few minutes to change into your uniform. However, I've wasted precious minutes going to fetch you, so unfortunately, you'll just have to train today in what you're wearing."   
  


The young man's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe this was happening--and all because he accidently set his alarm for 3:30 a.m. instead of 3:30 p.m.. Now he was the butt of this cynical captain's joke. Needless to say, Adrian didn't like his boxers to be the center of attention--especially the smiley face pair.   
  


"I expect, in the future, that no one will be late. Today was an easy day to be on time--the hour of meeting was even given in advance. From here on out you may be called up at any hour to report and I expect you here exactly when I ask for you. Zombies don't wait if you're tardy."   
  


A slight murmur buzzed across the room, with a little nervous giggling blended in. The captain glared until all was quiet again. "I hope no one has a problem with this." There was no response. "Good, now follow me out back into the yard."   
  


One by one, the trainees exited the old house through the back door to the yard. Alex instructed Jo to line them up, execution style, across the fence to the cow pasture directly behind the house. A few fidgeted, but most stood still, attempting to keep hold of their dignity while there was still a chance and attempting to ignore the piercing chalcedony gaze of their tall, blond captain as she paced in front of them.   
  


"I've already made my introductions, so let's get down to business. You are all members of the Midfield Valley S.T.A.R.S. Omega Training Team. There are currently twelve members, however some or even many of you will be replaced at my discretion. In a week, after all substitutions have been made, you will be divided into pairs and also into two teams of six--not including your superiors.   
  


"In that time it is Jo-ann Sullivan and I's responsibility to make you into a cooperative team. My advice to you is to get to know each other, not like friends but as enemies. Only enemies know each other's weakest points and know what others can do to exploit them. Strengths are a moot point and easy to find. Tell them why this is so, Sullivan."   
  


"So that they know which situations to offer assistance to any given team-mate."   
  


"Everyone has a friend, but everyone needs an enemy. You all have the unfortunate job of fulfilling both of those rolls for every person here." Alex glanced at her watch, 4:15. "Alright, Sullivan and I are going out to have coffee. You have 15 minutes--no more, no less--in which to learn something ..." She grinned. "This will be on the final exam."   
  


Alex grabbed Jo by the arm and led her back through the house, turning to walk down th sidewalk to a cafe a road away. Jo adjusted her beret and grimaced, not sure of what to do with the captain's new persona.   
  


"Are we really going out for coffee?"   
  


"De-caf. I don't want any foreign chemicals in my system while I'm training recruits." She strode down the street with the brunette in silence for a few seconds. "Aren't you going to ask me what I'm doing?"   
  


"I didn't think it was appropriate ... What are you doing?"   
  


"Ever heard of good cop--bad cop?"   
  


"You can't be serious."   
  


"No, you can't be serious. The trainees can't afford to like me, 1) someone has to punish and push them and 2) if they trust me I could turn on them too easy and then there would be no one to save this city. I can't afford to give praise, so I need you, and they need a superior that they can anonymously complain about me to if I happen to get out of hand."   
  


"So I play middle-man?"   
  


"Exactly. Your life may actually be more hell than anyone elses."   
  


"From the sounds of it, you're putting us all in hell, including yourself."   
  


"Hey, if they can't deal with me, then they can't deal with an outbreak."   
  


Alex walked through the double doors of the coffee shop, followed by Jo. She proceded to the counter, and put her hands flat in front of the register. "Two de-caf lattes to go--you like lattes, Jo?" The brunette nodded and the server called the order over to a young man working in the back.   
  


"You were raised on tough love, weren't you, Alex."   
  


"Better than those sugar-coated fairytales that get you killed." The lady at the register handed Alex the coffee and she paid her, leaving a fairly generous tip. The blond handed Jo one of the cups as they walked out the doors together. "You heard about the Licker Monster and saw the Tyrant in C-block as well as I did. In the soft state some of those recruits are in, they'd be a puddle of blood and tissue in seconds."   
  


Jo took a sip of her latte. "You're too graphic for your own good."   
  


"It's not like you have a light stomach. How much time we got?"   
  


She glanced at her watch. "Ten minutes."   
  


"Good--it's spy time. I hope you like climbing trees."   
  


"Oh, Alex!"   
  


"You can learn a lot about waht people really do when they don't know that their superiors are watching. Come on!"   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Alex proved once again that she liked to be precisely on time when her and Jo returned to the backyard. From their vantage point in the tree both had learned valuable information about the personalities of each of the trainees. Adrian was one of the more notable of the recruits and after they had all lined up by the fence again, he was the captain's first victim.   
  


"Alright, boxer-boy, what did you learn in the fifteen minutes I gave you?"   
  


Adrian twitched visibly as the others chuckled at the reminder of the youth's ridiculous predicament. His face grew red and eyes blank--as though he had thought the idea of actually learning something was a sick joke. He looked around him, stumbling for some coherant thing to say other than "Um ... um ...", as the youth realized that he did more goofing off than paying attention.   
  


The tall woman stepped close and put her arm around his shoulders. "Next time I give you instructions, you'd best decide what I mean and do it, hmm Mr. Rhodes." Adrian nodded and gulped until she released him. She glanced over her team members. "Some answer is better than no answer at all, so say something or risk looking like a complete idiot."   
  


At that, Alex began to interrogate down the line of S.T.A.R.S. trainees, finding some mistake in every answer that was given. Jo did her best to defend as many as possible, but the captain was brutal as well as thorough in her judgements. Clive Hargrove stated that the whole thing was quite unorthodox and was reprimanded severely for insubordination, 40 years old or not. Raquel and Seth bashed on each other, and the woman deemed their comments snide and biased, whether they were accurate or not. Raquel insisted that Seth was a male chauvanist, which he was, but both had a mocking attitude that Alex refused to tolerate.   
  


Martin she had far less to complain about, as his statements actually taught the rest of the team to pay close attention. The birds, he insisted, were content and that was a sign to him that the city was safe for now. Brett Davis agreed with him, but his casual conversations with his comrades also gave him insight into the personalities of two members. Audrey's knowledge of the state, he pointed out, would be exceptionally useful. However, it seemed that Tatyana was incredibly superstitious and riddled with numerous phobias--including claustrophobia. When the captain warned her that these things were nothing, the poor Russian burst into tears. Alex had her turn in her uniform immediately and sent her hoe to find a safer occupation, noting the need for a substitution on her clipboard.   
  


Jiro, perhaps, was the most observant, for he had found the structurally weak areas of the house and the best vantage point in the immediate vicinity (which was not the tree overhead). He was, however, scolded for learning absolutely nothing about his team-mates and teaching them nothing of himself. The youth took it all very gracefully and said he would attempt to be more friendly.   
  


Derek Marlowe's response to Alex's probing quickly turned the group on edge again. He informed the captain that no one trusted her and no one trusted any of the other recruits either. She said it didn't even take eyes to know that they didn't trust her and that the lack of trust was a lie, for as she pointed out Brett and Audrey had made friends very quickly.   
  


Finally, after questioning Audry, Bevan, and Clive she turned to Annette, who stood shaking in her boots. It made the tall captain almost want to give her sympathy, but she couldn't afford the kindness, or risk playing favorites. As cooly as she questioned all the others, she asked, "Annette, what did you learn?"   
  


The black haired girl tried to raise her gray gaze to meet the blue eyes, but failed. Instead, she looked over her head to the ever-smiling Jo and feeling reassured spoke in a quiet, but clear voice: "I learned everyone's names, which is a start ..." Alex raised one eyebrow, so the youth cleared her throat and went on, "I also discovered that our susperiors like to spy on their team in the trees, sir."   
  


Alex fought back her grin, tightening her frown across her face. Finally, a trainee who was observant of her surroundings for more than five minutes. She looked over at Jo, pursing her lips slightly for a moment, then turned back to the line. "I don't suppose anyone other than Miss Riddle noticed me in the tree with Sullivan?" There was a long pause. "I didn't think so." Alex turned back to the gray-eyed woman and looked at her grimly. "Riddle, why didn't you inform the rest of the team that we were in the tree?"   
  


Annette looked taken aback for a second. "Well, sir, I assumed that you wanted to remain hidden for a reason. I didn't want to interfere."   
  


"You kept important information from your colleagues. Now would you keep an observation such as that to yourself in an emergency?"   
  


"No sir."   
  


"Then don't do it in training. That's a lesson for all of you." Alex clapped her hands together. "Believe it or not, that's all I have planned for this session. I've already kept you longer than Umbrella paid me to keep you today. Remember, this was the easy part. It gets harder from here and if you whine you will be dismissed. All practice sessions will be impromptu for a week. After a week Jo and I will be conducting a kind of S.T.A.R.S. boot camp here at the headquarters. Pack only the necessities, because we will all be living together. That is all. You are dismissed."   
  


Most of the trainees seemed all too eager to get out of the captain's sight. Within a few minutes all that were left were Alex, Jo, and miraculously enough, the boxer-clad Adrian. That young man, despite all his kidding, looked concerned as he walked up to Jo.   
  


"Sullivan?"   
  


"Call me Jo. You've been dismissed." She smiled at him and he smiled back, eying Alex apprehensively. "Oh, she won't bite while I'm talking with you. What do you need?"   
  


"Well, I was just worried about Tatyana. Captain Quenby really upset her today."   
  


Jo nodded. "Adrian, Alex Quenby is just trying to figure out who has the mettle to survive. If Tatyana were in an emergency, she would just be jeopardizing herself and the group because of her phobias. She's been formally dismissed from the team for her protection as well as this city's."   
  


"So if we can't take the frying pan, then you guys won't throw us into the fire?"   
  


"Exactly."   
  


Adrian looked at her for a moment and grinned. "So why aren't you captain?"   
  


"Isn't it obvious, I'm too nice. Now get out of here--and take that uniform with you."   
  


"Alright." Adrian walked through the door, but poked his head back out. "Can I change before I go?"   
  


From where she stood facing away from him, Alex grinned. "You're not on my time now."   
  


"I'll take that as a yes."   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Break Room, Bioject Warehouse   
  
  
  


Marion Forscythe sat at the table in the dimly lit breakroom, sipping what had to be her third cup of coffee this afternoon. Her hand shook as she lifted the cup to her lips, however her jitters weren't just from the caffeine. The whole idea of the Lazarus Operation had her uptight. Her mind had been having a moral hissy-fit ever since she gave the go-ahead to Albert Wesker.   
  


The door opened behind her. "Speak-of-the-devil," she muttered, thinking that a very good analogy.   
  


The tall blond man pulled up a chair beside her and set the duralumin case he was carrying on the table. Shielded eyes watched the quaking hands, perterbed. "I'm glad that you're more of a scientist than a surgeon, Dr. Forscythe, otherwise I'd be worried about the procedure that you promised to complete with me."   
  


The woman pushed her glasses up her nose. "Its the damn coffee--someone made it too strong."   
  


"You I gather." Wesker gave a smug smile and gestured to the case. "Everything we need to begin the Operation is now present in this building."   
  


Marion looked down at the case and up again to Wesker's more-than-perfect face. She lifted her shaking hand to flick a strang of hair from her face, working her lips together nervously.   
  


"Now, doctor, you aren't actually thinking of bailing out are you? That would be most unfortunate for the both of us."   
  


The woman put her hands flat on the desk to stop the shaking. "No-no, but I can't help wondering if this is right. I mean, this is like playing God with a human being who hasn't even given his consent for it. There's a 70% chance that if he is revived that he'll be a vegetable for the rest of his life, and that wouldn't be a quality way to live. Its really a kind of Limbo state that's worse than death. Besides, if there's the possibility of a human soul--"   
  


"Marion, Marion, I thought you were an atheist."   
  


"Atheists don't believe in God--souls have nothing to do with it. Besides, I'm agnostic."   
  


"Well, now that the little detail of theology is clarified, I'd like to say my piece."   
  


"Fine."   
  


"First, consider it a medical breakthrough. If we succeed in completely reanimating a human being who's sole reason for dying was tissue damage, we'' have the medical break-through of the century, not to mention a kind of biological weapon far better than Umbrella's infamous T-virus. We're talking about immortality, Dr. Forscythe. Mankind would have one less thing to permanently die from. Game, set, match."   
  


"But if it fails?"   
  


"It won't fail. The subject hasn't been dead long enough for me to even consider the option of failure, just like the last human to go through the Operation."   
  


"What? You've--"   
  


"Yes. The Operation succeeded once already."   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Midfield Valley, S.T.A.R.S. Headquarters   
  
  
  


The hammer echoed inside the house where Jo had finished sweeping. Alex stood outside, nailing a cozy sign to the front door. The brunette walked out and shook her head, shivering a little as the temperature started to drop.   
  


"Abandon all hop ye who enter here," the woman read aloud.   
  


Alex stood back and admired her handiwork. "You like it?"   
  


"You're sick, Alex, do you know that?"   
  


"I find it funny. Tell me you don't see the humor in it."   
  


"I don't"   
  


The blond walked into the house. Jo followed her and shut the door behind her, locking it. She picked up the sweeper and put it away. "I think things went well today." Alex snorted, tossing her head. "Well, better than I thought it would," the brunette finished. She shut the closet door and looked around the room. "This place is still such a mess."   
  


Alex flopped on one of the ugly couches and stared at the brown eyed woman. "What are you saying? You could operate off this floor."   
  


Jo shook her head and laughed. "I don't know about that ... You contact Umbrella about Baranovskaya?"   
  


"Not yet. I want to find a replacement before they do."   
  


There was a knock at the door and the two looked at each other. "Who could it be now?" grumped the blonde.   
  


"Don't worry, I'll get it." Jo took the short walk back to the door and opened it. A gray-haired lady holding a box of cookies and the leash attached to a great Dane stood there smiling at her. "Hi?"   
  


"Hello, sweetie. I saw you and your friend move in and I baked you some cookies."   
  


"Oh, thankyou very much. Do come in."   
  


"Don't mind if I do. I'm Mona Feldmen--live across the street--and this is my Tiny Tim." The woman stepped inside and the gigantic dog followed.   
  


"I'm Jo Sullivan and the woman on the couch is Alex Quenby."   
  


The lady grinned, a couple of wrinkles creasing her relatively smooth cheeks. "Nice to meet you two." She looked around the room. "I must say, its about time they gave us one of these S.T.A.R.S. teams. Not that I need one. No sombies are getting in my house. But those college students--they just can't fend for themselves." She patted her Dane on the head and he wagged his huge tail. It made a loud thumping noise on Alex's couch. The blond grinned at the dog, amused.   
  


"Have a seat Mrs. Feldmen, and you can tell us about it. Jo has some iced tea in the fridge if you want some."   
  


Mona sat down and smiled, blue eyes gleaming with the fire that only certain old ladies had. "Iced tea would be nice." The dog jumped on Alex's lap and tried to lick her face. "Down, Timmy."   
  


Jo left the room and fetched iced tea for perhaps the billionth time that day. She put the cookies on the counter for later and brought out the glass for the gray-haired Feldmen. She smiled at her graciously, revealing a mouth that still had all of its teeth.   
  


"Thankyou, m'dear. Now let me tell you something about Umbrella ..."   
  


TBC in Chapter 5. 


	5. Mnemonic Mirage

Heaven Can Wait   
  


Kasage Starrunner   
  


Disclaimer: Resident Evil and all characters, settings, monsters, and corporations associated with the game series and the movie are © Capcom and its affiliates. The author has no association with any of these companies.   
  


All other characters and creations are © Kasage Starrunner. The author would like to note that Petra Cross, (Jo Sullivan, possibly) and Adrian Rhodes are part of a joint game project with her and friends, and that Petra will also be used in a collaborative mange started by Mangaworkshop.net. Also, the character Alex Quenby is based on her character, Quenby Andries from the Infinite Spiral Manga saga. Other character associations will be mentioned as necessary.   
  


Also, feel free to correct my Resident Evil knowledge. I want to be accurate. Suggestions on that account are encouraged.   
  


Author's Notes are available after the chapter.   
  


A Cast List will shortly be available at my site, Let Me Live::   
  


http://geocities.com/lukleia/claire.html   
  


Warnings: Violence (as typical for Resident Evil), profanity (the worst namely on the part of Petra)--more warnings will be added if necessary.   
  
  
  


Chapter Five: Mnemonic Mirages   
  
  
  


Dr. Marion Forscythe's Report: The Lazarus Operation   
  
  
  


Last night at 23:47, former Umbrella researcher Albert Wesker and myself completed an experimental procedure entitles the Lazarus Operation. The goal of this procedure is to reanimate the deceased human body and mind, restoring it to its previous sentient, living state, with the same quality of life and function it maintained before the death occured.   
  


The Lazarus Operation is a biomedical procedure involving a virus that has been tentatively classified as the Easter virus. This virus is injected into the subject, called both Lazarus and Phoenix by the staff, in small incriments while in a state of crygenic hybernation. The temperature is slowly raised, causing the virus to become active. The Easter virus takes the place of the dead cells, replacing and mending the decaying tissue--even nerve and heart muscle cells which up to this point were not scientifically possible to regenerate. An I.V. solution provides the nurtition for this restoration process, like an umbilical cord for the corpse. Three carefully placed electric shocks are given at intervals to reanimate the nerves cells and cardio-vascular system, "resurrecting" the individual.   
  


Previous attempts by out rival corporation, Umbrella, have proved futile and dangerous, as the incident in Raccoon City illustrates. However, the preliminary results of last night's procedure indicate to both Wesker and myself that the Operation was a success. The subject rapidly stabilized after the procedure, as indicated on the medical record, and we, the researchers, believe that he will awaken from his cryogenic state shortly. Test results indicate that the subject Steven Burnside will be able to resume normal life function, if his consciousness can be regained.   
  


As miracualous as this procedure seems, I must caution that this has only been practiced twice with any success--and only one was under my supervision. The case involving this "pheonix" involved very special circumstances that scientists and medical officials alike can not afford to ignore: He was 17, in excellent physcal condition but for a large wound to the abdomen, and had very little decay due to below freezing temperatures at the time of death. There were also amounts of a foreign RNA substance that Albert Wesker took samples of. It's structure appears to be very similar to that of Umbrella's T-virus, with a couple of very odd anomalies. I am not certain if these remnants effected the results of the operation.   
  


In closing, it is my suggestion that further testing by the Bio-ject Corporation is necessary before the results of this operation are made available to the larger research staff and public. Albert Wesker and I would like to request the time and funding to conduct more testing of this project in the near future, fulfilling our obligation to the corporation.   
  


--signed, Dr. Marion J. Forscythe, M.D.   
  
  
  


***   
  


The little girl sat in the room as though she were the only one there. Blue eyes seemed to give an eerie, starlit glow from behind moon-pale lids. Her face had the same celestial quality, framed by sun-gold strands of hair. She looked like a porcelain doll, head tilted to the side. Her nimble fingers captured small insects from the floor, placing them on a long, thin arm. From there they climbed upward past her sleeves onto the black velvet of the dress, following her shoulder to the white collar near her throat.   
  


That was when she started singing. Her voice was high and bird-like, as only a child's could be. It came perfectly on key with an echo that followed like a second harmony.   
  


"There was a friendly, but naive King 

Who wed a very nasty Queen. 

The King was loved 

And the Queen was feared.   
  


"Then one day while strolling with his court 

An arrow pierced the kind King's heart. 

He lost his life 

And his lady love."   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Midfield Valley, Cross Residence   
  
  
  


Claire awoke with the name 'Alexia Ashford' on her lips. She wasn't exactly what all her dream had contained, but the vision of those cold blue eyes and the song she sung--a song that played over and over again in Claire's mind--flashed before her consciousness and vanished, leaving her bewildered. She looked around the room anxiously, half-expecting to be back in the prison cell at Rockfort, with her tragic escape just another memory from a dream. However, the bed was too comfortable.   
  


The red-head closed her eyes and breathed, trying to recall the events that had transpired yesterday--Midfield Valley, Chris, Jo, Petra ... She opened her eyes again revealing the still dark master bedroom. It was 6:30 a.m. and the sun hadn't risen yet. The young woman could still see the stars sprinkled across the sky through the window. She yawned and stretched in bed, becoming suddenly aware of how stiff and sore all of her muscles were.   
  


She'd slept too long.   
  


Stiff and aching, Claire slid from the bed, shoeless feet thudding softly against the beige carpeted floor. She stretched again, muscles in her neck spasming from where she had slept so soundly in a strange position. The woman was about to thoroughly examine the room when she heard a series of crashes on the lower floor.   
  


Thundering down the stairs, the red-head sought for the kitchen. She found Chris and Petra there along with a dozen pans scattered about the hard-wood floor. It seemed that Chris had woken their host up fifteen minutes ago and she was groggy and, in her own words, quite bitchy. Petra had gone into the kitchen to fix something for breakfast, but when she opened the cabinet the cooking ware launched an all out attack on her, leaping from the shelves to the floor. The woman cursed profusely, holding her tender abdomen with one hand, and the knuckles of the other in her mouth. Chris was in the corner having a hearty laugh over the situation and quite frankly making things worse.   
  


"Fucking hell!" Petra finally yelled, then slumped on a stool defeated.   
  


Claire bent down and began collecting the pans, listening to Chris' laughter become a chuckle then disappear entirely. The red-head finished stacking the pans back in the cupboard, then stood, slapping her hands across her jeans. Petra sat on the stool, slouched and pouting like a five year old. Claire quickly looked away from her and resisted the urge to grin.   
  


It became obvious that Claire had missed something when Chris patted the green-haired woman on the back and she lunged for his throat. The stool caught under her feet and fell toward the floor, but Claire caught it before it could add to this morning's ruckus. Petra wrapped her legs around the older Redfield's back, shrieking, "You bastard!" Chris laughed and fell into the bar, trying to disengage himself from the furious woman. He held her in the air and she kicked out, forced to grab the back of her baggy pajama pants to prevent them from falling off and revealing her underwear. The man set her on the counter and held her there as she hissed out heavy breaths.   
  


"Someone needs a cigarette this morning."   
  


"Yeah, and a cup of coffee, and breakfast, and about five more hours of sleep!" She aimed a foot for his crotch but missed as he dodged. The older man made for the living room, holding his now half-empty pack of cigarettes aloft like a carrot. "Here, Petra. Come on."   
  


The woman growled, balling her fists, but followed. Her feet stomped across the floor and the dining room door slammed behind her. Claire watched in silence, swearing up and down that there was no explaination for her brother being such an ass. But then, he'd had no luck with her since they got back. She lowered her eyebrows.   
  


"I guess that leaves me with breakfast. I wonder if I can cook eggs yet ..." She eyed the saucepan in the cabinet warily, then looked at the coffee machine. "Coffee first--I know I can make that. Maybe those two will be back to cook by then."   
  


***   
  
  
  


Petra stared at the plate and blinked. "What is this?"   
  


"Eggs, bacon, and toast," Claire replied, taking a sip of coffee.   
  


The green-haired woman poked at the blackened bits that she assumed were supposed to be bacon and grimaced. The eggs weren't in much better condition, greasy and burnt. They even appeared to be covered with a gelatinous slime that was the remains of too much cooking oil. She bit into the toast, which was a little dark, but at least it looked like toast.   
  


"What did you do, Claire, put the T-virus in it?"   
  


Chris dug in and ate heartily--despite the frightening appearance and Petra connotations. After nineteen years of living with Claire, he was used to his sister's cooking. The older man washed it down with a swig of coffee. "Actually, this is one of you better breakfasts."   
  


Claire smiled as Petra looked between the two of them. She was not convinced. "You're fuckin' with me, right?"   
  


Chris shook his head. "You should see her try to make omelets or pancakes."   
  


The woman shuddered and poured herself another cup of coffee. "I'm voting Claire off the island--the kitchen island that is. From here on out the stove has a restraining order against her. She doesn't get within three feet of it."   
  


"I'd vote myself off, but I was hungry," Claire laughed.   
  


"Jesus, there's cereal in the cabinets--and I got fresh milk as soon as I got home. Next time spare me ... this." She stabbed at an egg as though it were alive. Chris raised an eyebrow. "I swear it moved." She stabbed it some more until it was thoroughly dead, then dumped the whole thing in the garbage. "Wasn't that hungry, anyway," she muttered.   
  


"Sorry. I thought it might work this time."   
  


"How can you fuck up eggs?"   
  


"Easy," said Chris. "Claire touched them. She's a real marvel with her lack of cooking skills. She blows up hotdogs in microwaves and burns up T.V. dinners. Its amazing she can survive on her own at all."   
  


Claire pinched him--hard. "Shut up! I don't burn T.V. dinners."   
  


"I've seen you."   
  


Petra rolled her eyes. "I'm going back to bed. Wake me up if the phone doesn't by 10." She tromped back upstairs, leaving the Redfields to clean up Claire's mess. As Chris scraped the goop out of the saucepan, he decided that he was siding with Petra on never letting Claire into the kitchen again.   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Bio-ject Medical Fancility, Undisclosed Location   
  
  
  


The bright lights of the medical facility glowed red through his eyelids as the young man regained consciousness. He felt fuzzy and numb. All of his limbs seemed like rubber to him, and they tingled with the fire of newly restored circulation.   
  


"I'm alive."   
  


It was his first coherant thought and he wasn't really certain why he thought it at all. It reminded him of something, fragmented memories from a dream, a place of blinding white and a sickening sense of fear and failure. No other memories came to him. They were shut off and unconnected with his neurons--cold storage behind a locked door with no key. He sought for it, but the it all remained just behind his vision.   
  


Brown-green eyes flickered open to challenge the blinding light. He let his lids open and close until he could make out the white walled interior with no windows. He thought there was a curtain to one side of him, but wasn't sure. Too many blurry patches and black spots were running across his vision. The young man blinked, but they wouldn't go away so he closed them again.   
  


He heard footsteps on the linoleum and a rushing sound as the curtain next to him was opened. A female voice called out, "Steve. Steve?" And it took him a moment to realize that she was addressing him.   
  


The youth opened his eyes once again and stared blankly at the blurry woman in front of him. He twitched slightly and squinted, confused. The woman leaned forward and put her hand to his head. It was warm to the touch, which made him shiver. He hadn't realized how cold he was.   
  


"You must be suffering from temporary memory loss, I'm sorry. Your name is Steve Burnside."   
  


The name seemed to unlock a few images from his memory, but he could ony grab onto a couple before they fled him again. He heard himself speak and started at his voice. "Claire?" he stumbled, then wondered who that was.   
  


The woman patted his hand, careful to avoid the tender area where the I.V. was taped down. "No, I'm not Claire. You won't know me, I'm Dr. Forscythe."   
  


"Doctor?" He tried to raise his head, but the muscles would not respond. "Something happened?"   
  


"You had a very close encounter with death, but you're going to be alright now."   
  


Steve felt himself sink into the pillow. He was very tired--his eyelids felt like lead. They fluttered and closed against his will. The young man didn't like the lack of control, but there was nothing he could do. His brain was already overwhelmed. He tried to open his eyes, but the doctor shushed him and smoothed his hair.   
  


"You rest now so you can make a full recovery." 

Steve didn't get the chance to respond before he slipped back to sleep.   
  


***   
  


Midfield Valley, S.T.A.R.S. Headquarters   
  
  
  


Alex Quenby had not made her S.T.A.R.S. team happy when she got them up at 3:00 a.m. It had been 35 degrees and breezy as she hiked them through the cow pasture behind the house. Besides hiking, they jogged, drilled, and were questioned by the unrelenting captain. At 5:00 a.m. they had all returned home exhausted and crawled back into bed, including the captain and Jo. It was now eight in the morning and Alex had showered--the plumbing at least had been finished before they arrived. As she walked into the kitchen and dining area, the wet-haired blond could hear her partner mumbling to herself.   
  


"No--that's not it ...wait--yes ... There it is, haha!"   
  


Alex had to face the facts ... Jo was a loon.   
  


That loon, in fact, was sitting at a card table with four cups of bubbling liquid and a water-testing kit laid out in front of her. In her right hand she held an eye-dropper, carefully adding drops of specified chemicals to the cups. The brown eyes watched the reactions carefully.   
  


Alex couldn't believe what she was seeing. "I hope you're not doing what I think you're doing, Jo."   
  


"If you're thinking I'm actually going to drink these cups of soda, then no, I'm not doing what you think I'm doing." Another drop of the water-testing solution dripped into one of the cups. Alex watched her a moment, then shook her head.   
  


"So what does it tell you?"   
  


Jo just blinked at it for a moment.   
  


"Jo?"   
  


"It's ... safe? That can't be right."   
  


The tall blonde laughed, picking up a cup and examining it. "I told you."   
  


"I still don't believe it."   
  


"It's over. Give it up. The sodas are safe to drink."   
  


"I wouldn't say that." The brunette began cleaning the mess off of the card table. She dumped the soda in the sink and sighed. For now she was defeated. "So what's the plan for today?"   
  


"More physical conditioning after lunch. I contacted the local youth club to borrow their indoor pool. We have to share that with some kids though. Keep the team on the deep end." The blond dug her sun goggles from her pocket and began springing the elastic so that it snapped back at her fingers. "That'll be one o'clock, maybe two. Probably some odd minute in between."   
  


"You mean business with this late stuff."   
  


"Yes, I do. They need to be aware that there are important times other than on the hour, half hours, and quarter hours."   
  


"True. God, Umbrella will put an alert out at 1:27 a.m. if it suits them."   
  


Alex nodded. "By the way, do you know of any 3-D holographic pragrammers locally?" It was a shot in the dark, but the woman had to ask.   
  


"University, actually." Alex gave her a surprised look. "It's where Umbrella got their training technology from, why?"   
  


"I want to set up some simulations. The only reason Raccoon City got so out of control was because their ass of a captain was a traitorous bastard and never taught them what they were up against."   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Umbrella Headquarters, Paris, France   
  
  
  


It had been a long day, and Valeris Davenport had the feeling that it was just about to get longer. Though exhausted from an early morning ... incident, there was triumph in the on the old man's face. In his hand he held the sole copy of the recording of the Tyrant in C-block which was captured by the JANUS system and conveniently erased at 07:05 hours G.M.T.   
  


He laid the tape on his desk and examined it, thin lips curving just slightly upward. Yes, he owned an archival masterpiece--the sound and video recording of how Alex Quenby defeated a Tyrant without suffering injury. The old man wasn't certain he wanted to view the recording, fearing it would interrupt his mythic vision of the Herculean young woman. It could spoil the whole enigma that made her interesting in the first place. On the other hand, it may add more layers to the conundrum that was Alexis Quenby.   
  


Valeris put the tape in the player and sat back to watch. He wasn't disappointed.   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Audio-Visual Recording: The Tyrant in C-block   
  
  
  


The camera turned and zoomed in as two figures in the black jumpsuits of Umbrella trainees stepped from the sub-floor elevator into C-block. Torn wires and pipes hung from the ceiling, barely visible in the red emergency lights. The taller figure turned to the elevator and gestured to someone inside. The JANUS system zoomed in closer, revealing the taller figure as Alex. The audio picked up.   
  


"Get back in the elevator, Jo." The eyes glinted blue and red at the other figure, who stood glaring stubbornly, hands on her hips.   
  


"You aren't fighting this thing alone, whatever it is."   
  


"This is the G-virus block and there's no way in hell you're fighting a Tyrant."   
  


"And hell will freeze over before I leave you on your own. Let's decontaminate this block and get out of here."   
  


"Fine," the woman spat. The two turned from the doors. They closed behind them and the elevator began its ascent, whirring up to a surface level. The computer switched to another camera as they walked, registering their Glocks and combat knives on a side screen. It returned to a standard view as the two trainees examined their surroundings.   
  


"This is pretty well locked down, but the subject broke through the glass," said Alex.   
  


"No contamination other than the monster, right?"   
  


"None. Hopefully our escapee won't cause any damage now that we're down here."   
  


A static line ran across the image as a clicking sound was heard.   
  


"What was that?" asked Jo.   
  


"Air in the ventilation system. Happens all the time on the subfloors."   
  


The tall blond leaped through the broken glass, then helped her partner scramble over the side unscathed. The camera switched to the interior of the room. The light was cold--red warning lights made dim by the cold flourescent tubes in the ceiling. The airlock door in the corner was open, mechanical lock hanging from sizzling wires.   
  


"Laboratory, Alex? It's awful clean."   
  


"Everything's packed away. Lucky for the researchers they'd all left for the night."   
  


The brunette looked through the cabinets, boots thudding on the floor. "Chemicals--nothing useful."   
  


Alex raised an eyebrow. It appeared as though she didn't agree, but said nothing, peering through the observation windows lining three-fourths of the room. It was hard to see through them due to the combined force of glare from the lights and a fog coating the glass. The fog was strange, due to some temperature change between the two rooms. That meant the door had been busted recently, or the fog would be gone by now. The tall blond rubbed on the glass, clearing the window so she could see. She stepped back as a smeared trail of blood became hidden behind the fog again.   
  


"Gross," commented Jo, disgusted. "Someone didn't leave before it got out."   
  


"Come on. I'm getting hungry."   
  


"What!?"   
  


Alex said nothing and walked through the open lab door, crouching in a defensive position. The camera switched to a better angle as Jo rejoined her in the picture, weapon drawn. The ventilation system rattled again and the brunette tightened her grip on the gun, brown eyes looking up and down the wide hallway nervously.   
  


The blond looked back at her and moved forward, speaking in a quiet, yet harsh tone. "Put that away. The Glock's out last resort and could even prove useless. We only have a couple rounds between the two of us." The brunette reholstered the gun and moved into the open. Static ran across the screen and she looked around like she heard something again. Jo glanced at Alex.   
  


"I heard it too," she reassured her, standing straight with her head cocked slightly.   
  


Static ran across the screen again and a loud *thud, thud* was heard. The computer checked its cameras in several boxes at the top of the screen then resumed the standard view of the two trainees. Alex was now walking by the far wall, seemingly examining the structure.   
  


"Looks like they store B.O.W. gas in D-block of this subfloor. That's going to make things difficult. There's a line running through that pipe in the ceiling." The camera followed her gesture to a large insulated pipe, then panned back to the blond.   
  


The thudding was coming louder, mixed with the slight clang of the metal floor. The footsteps of something bi-pedal and heavy were now obvious. It echoed down the hall as the vent rattled again. Alex swung her head up and down the hall, then put the laboratory door to the left of her and Jo behind her. There was movement down the red-lit hall as a dark shadow moved steadily toward them. Jo shivered once, then crouched, ready to take any of the blond's suggestions.   
  


*Clank, clank* The shadow reached the edge of the white light and paused, revealing itself. The computer registered the heart-rate of the brunette rising rapidly. The blond stood staunch and unchanged, as the pale light revealed the advanced height and musculature and the long clawed arm of a Tyrant Type 2. It's silvery-gray skin gleamed like a sick, full moon as it began to walk towards them again.   
  


"Oh God, Alex. That's a--"   
  


"I know." The woman dug her feet into the floor, tensing her muscles. From where the camera sat, it saw the tightened muscles on the back of her neck clench, as though she were gathering energy to her. She grabbed her combat knife with her fist, the bladeless half near her thumb and stood poised, letting the monster get a few precious feet closer.   
  


"What are you do--"   
  


"Stay here," Alex hissed, and charged headlong at the Tyrant. The monster let her approach without making a move, just staring with vacant eyes. Five feet from him the woman launched herself in the air, jamming the knife at the weak space between where the clavicles and sternomastoids met. The combat knife connected with skin and literally snapped in two. Unphased, the blond rebounded off the Tyrant's chest, barely dodging the razor clawed arm as it struck towards her. She returned to Jo's side as the brunette shook her head.   
  


"The knife--"   
  


"No kidding. Bullets are going to be like paintballs to this thing."   
  


Alex looked around the room, searching for her next move. Her head turned from the lab to the Tyrant. She grabbed Jo and pulled her close. "There's a gas-mask on the far wall behind the Tyrant-monster. Go get it and put it on. I'm going to try something." She detached her handgun from her belt. "Take this. Keep it busy."   
  


"What!"   
  


Alex had already dived back into the lab. The brunette couldn't see her through the fogged glass. The computer split the screen. Jo holstered the second gun, and Alex began removing various chemicals from the storage cabinet. Alex and the chemicals became a small box in the corner of the screen as the camera followed Jo.   
  


"Right arm's dangerous. Creature lunges right--dodge right ..." the young woman mumbled. The Tyrant made a move like he was about to charge, and the brunette started bravely forward, watching the Tyrant's muscles for any sign that it was predicting what she was doing. She dipped left like she was going around that side, tricking the monster into lunging for her as she did a remarkable switchback, running instead around the right side.   
  


The camera angle switched as she ran for the gas mask on the back wall. It was a race for the young woman to put the gas mask on her face before the Tyrant turned around and cornered her. Finally, the mask slipped on and just as the monster charged she ran around the right side again. The edge of its foot tripped her and she fell to the floor, but scrambled up in a reasonable amount of time and began looking around her for a distraction. Static ran across the screen again.   
  


Jo stepped backwards across the hall, glancing here and there but keeping a relatively close eye on the Tyrant. Suddenly, she ran to the side of the hall and yanked a fire-extinguisher out of its case, holding it between herself and the creature like a weapon. In the top corner it was visible that Alex was now carefully mixing chemicals, though Jo herself had no idea she was doing this.   
  


The Tyrant grew closer and the short woman tightened her grip on the extinguisher. She aimed the short hose on the end carefully. When it was only a few feet from her she began spraying the creature straight in the eyes, stepping backward at a quick pace. The monster roared and lashed out, but couldn't see where it was aiming.   
  


Jo glanced behind her. The lab door wasn't far away now. The extinguisher ran out, so she threw it away with a clang. Still moving steadily backwards she unholstered the two guns and fired them simultaneously until she was forced to reload. Before she could holster one of the guns, a hand grabbed her from behind and pulled her into the lab. The split screens became one again.   
  


Jo looked around. Alex was standing behind her, holding a sealed off test tube. "Get to the back of the room and get down, Jo. This is going to get messy." The woman in the gas-mask hesitated, but ran to the other side of the room, jumping through the broken glass and ducking behind the wall where she couldn't be seen.   
  


Alex turned to face the Tyrant, a sickening grin on her face. She held the test tube delicately between thumb and forefinger. "Say goodnight, Tyrant." She threw the tube and ducked, pulling her arms over her head. As the glass impacted and shattered against the Tyrant's chest, it exploded, knocking out several cameras the computer had been using. When it finally found a new view all that remained of the monster was dripping tissue on the walls. A B.O.W. gas leak was contaminating the subfloor and the Biohazard busser was activated. The tape went dead.   
  


Needless to say, the recording was put in the drawer for safekeeping.   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Midfield Valley, Davenport Estate, Stables   
  
  
  


Alfred stepped trepidously through the aisle of the stable, hoping none of the horses could reach him with their teeth. They eyed him with curious brown eyes and those that could stuck their heads out and sniffed, ears pricked forward in interest. He dodged away from them and one whinneyed--laughing at his fear.   
  


He finally reached the tackroom where a pony was cross-tied in the stable aisle to be groomed. The small equine grabbed at the straps attached to his halter with tactile lips and tongue, slobbering all over them pleasantly. It snorted at the sickly Davenport and swished its tail, giving a yawn after a few seconds. Alfred held his hands out and let it sniff him as he waited.   
  


"I know you're in here," he said, suddenly. "Come out of there."   
  


"Coming, Alfred."   
  


A ten-year-old girl walked out of the tack room, carrot in one hand and a brush in the other. She held out the carrot, which the gray pony took graciously, careful not to knick the china hands with his yellowed teeth. The girl turned to the thin boy and gazed through him with her icy blue eyes. She must have found nothing important on his face, for she turned casually around and walked under the cross-ties to begin brushing the pony. Her pale golden hair shimmered as she turned, then lay still on her back but for an occasional rustle that occured as she stretched her arm to brush. They gray's lips quivered contently as the dust was lifted off of him.   
  


"What do you want?" she asked, standing on her tiptoes to reach the crest of the neck. Alfred watched her intently for a moment before the question registered.   
  


"You were outside. You aren't supposed to be outside during the day."   
  


"I had to exericise Pepper."   
  


"Someone saw you out there. I hate inventing stories."   
  


The girl moved to Pepper's shoulder. "Its not like they could see me well. I was in one of the back fields."   
  


"That's not the point. You should have been in the dormitory. That's where you should be now."   
  


"But everyone else is asleep. It's so boring."   
  


"Father will be angry."   
  


"I have to take care of Pepper." The blond girl set her jaw stubbornly and glared at Alfred. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle under the cold gaze.   
  


"I just don't want you to get in trouble and you should really be with the others."   
  


The girl sensed the worry and stopped frowning. She replied to him, warbling with a dove's voice. "Alright, let me finish with my pony and I'll go back." She looked out the door, a rain cloud seeming to pass over her face. Alfred felt the mood change and was sad for yelling at the younger girl.   
  


"I'll come and play with you there."   
  


She smiled, blue eyes brightening. Her golden hair fell over her shoulders as she leaned in toward the pale, blond boy. The black, dust-covered dress rustled slightly. "Bring them."   
  


"The ants? Of course I will."   
  


There was a long pause as the girl stood, brush posed in her hand. She put it down and ran her fingers up the gray. "You can bring them," she said, smile never leaving her lips. She slipped under the cross-ties and grabbed Alfred's thin fingers. "Yes, do bring them--but I meant the butterflies."   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Midfield Valley, Cross Residence   
  
  
  


Petra groaned and stretched as she got dressed. It was 9:30 and the extra three hours of sleep had done her a world of good. The frostbite still spread red across her abdomen and she now had bruises from the pans, but was less exhausted than yesterday. She rubbed some first-aid ointment on her stomach then pulled a tight orange shirt over it. A little flesh peeked out between the baggy black pants and the shirt, but she felt no need to change it now. The outfit she wore in Anarctica now hung in her closet, gloves with the knee and elbow pads shoved into a drawer.   
  


The woman stepped from her room to the bathroom, pomading her limp hair so that it spiked up in the back the way she liked it too. Hands reached for the rewetting drops and put them into her eyes to keep her contacts from moving around. She blinked as she heard Chris tromp by. When the woman was certain he'd gone downstairs, she reentered the hall and walked to Claire's room.   
  


She knocked. "Claire?" When there was no answer Petra opened the door. She could hear water running in the master bathroom. The red-head was in the shower.   
  


Petra stepped back to leave the room when something on the dresser caught her eye. She walked over and picked up the paper that was next to a red zippo. The gloss revealed that it was a photograph, so she held it delicately between her fingers. The purple eyes gazed intently, then blinked. She turned it over but there was no writing on the back. The woman looked at the picture's front again. There was a man sitting next to a blond woman. Behind them, a familiar boy with auburn hair leaned forward.   
  


"The boy?" she whispered. The water shut off. She gave the picture one last glance, then put it gentley back on the desk by the lighter. Her face felt hot and her eyes stung. The shoeless feet barely made a sound as she slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind her as though she had never entered.   
  


TBC in Chapter Six. 


	6. Surface and Breathe

Heaven Can Wait   
  


Kasage Starrunner   
  


Disclaimer: Resident Evil and all characters, settings, monsters, and corporations associated with the game series and the movie are © Capcom and its affiliates. The author has no association with any of these companies.   
  


All other characters and creations are © Kasage Starrunner. The author would like to note that Petra Cross, (Jo Sullivan, possibly) and Adrian Rhodes are part of a joint game project with her and friends, and that Petra will also be used in a collaborative mange started by Mangaworkshop.net. Also, the character Alex Quenby is based on her character, Quenby Andries from the Infinite Spiral Manga saga. Other character associations will be mentioned as necessary.   
  


Also, feel free to correct my Resident Evil knowledge. I want to be accurate. Suggestions on that account are encouraged.   
  


Author's Notes are available after the chapter.   
  


A Cast List will shortly be available at my site, Let Me Live::   
  


http://geocities.com/lukleia/claire.html   
  


Warnings: Violence (as typical for Resident Evil), profanity (the worst namely on the part of Petra)--more warnings will be added if necessary.   
  


Chapter Six: Surface and Breathe   
  
  
  
  
  


Midfield Valley Youth Club, Indoor Pool   
  
  
  


The shouts of children echoed off the tiled floor and wide skylights of the indoor pool. Alex sat watching them in her black sport suit, smiling to herself. Childhood was an amazing freedom for a number of lucky kids.   
  


Water splashed on her knees as one of the braver munchkins did a cannonball. The blond laughed, teeth gleaming white. Her voice carried, for a change high and blissful instead of the low, dark cackle that commonly exited her vocal chords. The resounding chuckle faded as she leaned back in the lounge chair to stare at the heavens. The sky was gray and cloudy, but a ray of sunlight pierced through the glass and lit up the turquoise water with dazzling, bright reflections. Children were wonderful. Too bad they had to grow up.   
  


The blue eyes continued to watch the little waterbugs, trying to recall her own childhood as they rushed by in play. There were very few memories that she had stored from that time in her life: a mother's face, her subsequent death, pain, abuse. Her eyes tingled and she rubbed them, trying to replace those blurry shadows with the shouts of happy children, playful children ... normal children. She squeezed her eyes shut and just listened.   
  


A slap-slapping sound came from behind her and Alex started out of her reverie. It was Jo in her damned pink flip-flops. The brunette's hair was let loose, and it hung straight to her shoulders. In her hands she carried two Coca-colas, which weren't really legal to have poolside, but no one was complaining.   
  


"They had real soda."   
  


"I see that." Jo handed over one of the cans, and Alex sat herself up to take it from her. "So, you'll drink that?"   
  


"Uh-huh." She opened the can. It made a hissing sound. "Where's you Times?"   
  


The blond gestured to a melted blob of ink and paper at her feet. "It got a little wet."   
  


"Mm, no kidding." The brunette was a little surprised that her partner wasn't upset, but opted to say nothing and watch the pool. "They going to clear the diving area?"   
  


"Yep, but it's only 12:30, so they're not worrying about it yet. I'm not either. Let the kids have fun."   
  


"That's funny. I didn't think you believed in fun."   
  


"Only sometimes." The woman stood from the plastic-covered chair and stretched, reminding the brunette very much of a tree. She climbed the diving board and jumped, body arching into the water gracefully. Her body hit the water like a torpedo, barely making a splash. She surfaced and swam back to the side with broad, trained strokes. At the side, Alex pulled herself out, gleaming like a wet seal.   
  


"Diving team?" Jo questioned.   
  


"Something of the sort." The blond rubbed a towel vigourously over her body and laid back down on the chair. A couple of children now watched her in awe. She gazed out the skylight and laughed again, startling Jo Sullivan. The brunette settled down, and sipping their Cokes, the they waited.   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Bioject Medical Facility, Undisclosed Location   
  
  
  


When Steve awoke next he was feeling much more aware. Though the fog still passed in front of his vision, the black spots were gone and he could see the details of the room. As he had first assumed, the room was white with no windows. There was a bright flourescent bulb over his head lighting the room. The drapery to his left was indeed a privacy curtain running along the side of his bed. It seemed like some kind of mesh. He wanted to touch it, but his body was still tingling and unresponsive--no ... He stared at his fingers. They twitched. The event was cause for a smile.   
  


The youth looked across the bed and into the grey eyes of the doctor. He blinked with surprise but kept looking, trying to recall the name he had called her before she corrected him. It was gone now, though. He watched her hand scribble across a clipboard as she examined the monitor screens around him. The auburn-haired boy tried to ignore the beeping sounds and concentrate on remembering the woman's name.   
  


The pen clicked as the doctor stuck it on the clipboard. She set the papers to the side of her and smiled. The smile was gentle, but there were lines of worry about her pale face that made the boy uneasy.   
  


"I forgot your name," he stuttered.   
  


The woman stood then sat in a chair next to his bed instead of at the foot of it. "It's Dr. Forscythe. Marion Forscythe."   
  


"Ma-ri-on."   
  


She nodded. "You can call me that if its easier."   
  


Steve had wandered off into a new sea of mental connections. "Like Maid Marion--Robin Hood," he mumbled to himself.   
  


"Not quite the same. Are you feeling better after your nap?"   
  


"Yes." He paused and knitted his brows together. "I can't see right."   
  


"That will get better."   
  


"I forgot my name again."   
  


"Steve Burnside."   
  


"Steve. My name is Steve. Steve Burnside." A couple of images hung just out of his reach. He grabbed at them with his mind, but they fled away. He felt them laughing. The name he had said came back to him. "Where's Claire?"   
  


Marion pushed her glasses up her nose. "I don't know who Claire is, Steve. You mentioned her before. Do you remember Claire?"   
  


Steve looked passed her to the wall for a moment. "No."   
  


The woman sighed and put her hands in her lap. Steve saw her look at them and bite her lip. He was suddenly afraid. H felt like he was trapped and lost forever--stuck in a body without all of his mind.   
  


"That's bad, isn't it--that I don't remember."   
  


"No. It's just a roadblock."   
  


"It's all there I think. I just can't ... get it." Tears prickled in his eyes as he tried to grab at another passing shadow. "I want to remember. I know that-that it's there. Why can't I?" The tears were now running uncontrollably down Steve Burnside's face. He felt like a child unable to contain himself as he sobbed into his hands, which he hadn't realized were now mobile.   
  


The brown haired woman straightened the blankets at his chest, then pulled his hands gently from his face. "Steve--Steve. It's alright. It wasn't unexpected considering the trauma. Don't agitate yourself."   
  


Breathing was suddenly difficult for the youth. A sharp pain ran from his lower abdomen to his chest. His muscles twitched and he cried out, clutching his hands to the space just below his diaphragm. Marion took a needle out of a packet near the bedside and flicked, examining the contents in the light. "Calm down," she said, grabbing his arm firmly and swabbing it. The needle was in and out in a flash. In a short time the youth fell back to his pillow, breathing heavily. His eyes were wide with inexplicable fear as he stared at the doctor.   
  


"Muscle relaxers, Steve. Your wound is just under your chest. You're stitched all over there and haven't quite healed yet. Take it easy."   
  


The numb tingling returned to Steve's limbs as more dreamlike images passed by. A crazy woman laughed holding a needle, another woman in danger, tentacles--oh god, Claire. "Claire, I have to save Claire!"   
  


"There's no Claire here."   
  


"No. No--creatures, arms, something. Oh god, it hurts."   
  


"Breathe, just breathe."   
  


He was remembering something now and she wasn't certain how good for his health--both mental and physical--that it was. The memories were violent and closely associated with the trauma of his death. She wasn't certain he could handle the emotional strain.   
  


The boy's breathing leveled off and his eyes closed. The auburn hair lay spread about the pillow. He really was so young--only a few years from being a child. It made her wonder what achievement was worth inflicting this kind of pain on the individual.   
  


She had made a vow--"First do no harm."   
  


Steve was now unconscious again. His mouth was cracked open and he was drooling on the crumpled pillow. She closed it gently and clean the young man's face. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one," she reminded herself. However, the echo of the Hippocratic Oath she'd taken such a short time ago made her doubt her own motives for participating in the Operation.   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Midfield Valley Youth Club, Indoor Pool   
  
  
  


One o' clock passed and the staff had cleared the diving end of the swimming pool. Jo and Alex had finished their cokes on the hour, shoving them in a nearly full recycling bin in the hallway outside.   
  


One by one the trainees began to showing up. Annette came first to no one's surprise, followed by a startling early Adrian, who wasn't about to get caught in his boxers again. Most of the team bided their time by swimming around in the deep end. A few pranksters, such as Adrian and Seth, yanked people underwater or splashed them from the other end of the pool. Here and there, a trainee gave Alex a funny look, not believing that there really was a woman underneath the uniform. They weren't sure of what to make of the Captain in a bathing suit.   
  


Derek didn't swim. Neither did Clive, but Alex didn't blame him for not wanting to be dunked by some rapscallion. Annette lurked on the edge with her feet in the water, but did not enter. Every splash seemed to make her more apprehensive.   
  


Jo poked Alex on the shoulder. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"   
  


Alex blinked. She was currently being distracted by the children in the three-foot deep section. The blue eyes flicked to Jo and then followed her eyes to the nervous young woman at the side. "Annette--nervous about the water?" She watched her jerk away as Adrian tried to grab her foot and pull her in. The blonde whistled through her fingers and everyone stopped and looked at their captain. She made a mental note to use that to get their attention again in the future.   
  


"I want Riddle, that's all. Carry on until 13:27."   
  


The young woman stood nervously and walked to her lounging superiors. A small hand ran through her dark hair, shaking slightly. "Sir, you wanted me?"   
  


"Why aren't you swimming? I know that Derek's anti-social and Clive's just snooty, but you ..." She shrugged, leaning back on the chair with her hands behind her head.   
  


Annette cleared her throat. "I'm afraid that ... well--I don't know how to swim. Please don't dismiss me!"   
  


Alex nodded, trying to discern her motives. "Are you afraid to swim?"   
  


"Not if someone would teach me, sir."   
  


The blonde sat up. "Alright, here's what I want you to do. While everyone else is training I want you to go to the shallows and join in on some swimming lessons. If you feel confident you can stay afloat before training is over you may rejoin us."   
  


"Sir?"   
  


"Why? Because its better you learn to swim and miss a session than to have to be replaced. You're bright and enthusiastic in regards to supporting this team. I owe you the chance to prove yourself and you can't do that if you're lacking a certain skill I need you to have." She looked at her second-in-command. "Jo, go talk to one of the instructors and have her added to the class roster."   
  


"Yes sir." The brunette slapped across the pool deck, Annette following in her wake.   
  


Alex smiled as they walked away. The fact was that she really admired the timid woman's ironic courage. It didn't come natural to her, but there it was. She'd had the bravery to point out her superiors in a tree and admit she didn't know how to do something that could possibly get her removed from her position. Personally, she wondered if any of the others had half the heart of Annette Riddle.   
  


Adrian leapt off the diving board doing a Tarzan yell. His belly hit the water with a loud smack and when he surfaced he looked as though he had severe sunburn. The trainees laughed at his stupidity, though the captain figured that the move was purposeful. She was rather rooting for the clown too--he had character.   
  


Audrey swam to the side and clung there, red-brown hair sticking to her face. "You alright?"   
  


The brown haired man choked, then laughed jumping back into the pool. "I'm okay."   
  


He pounded his chest and winced as the local woman swam to the center of the pool. She turned back to him and shouted: "Hey, you're supposed to dive like Bevan, not flop like a flapjack!"   
  


"Well, that Polynesian surf-pro can kiss my ass, because I'm the bellyflop king."   
  


Bevan grinned, his teeth gleaming white on his tan face. "So the white man likes to wipe out?" he questioned, then splashed Adrian, causing him to sputter. "Besides, monkey-boy, I was born in Ohio."   
  


The youth removed his hair from his face, shaking his head like a wet dog. "You sad bastard. And here I thought someone was stupid enough to move here on purpose."   
  


"Only if you were born in Ohio."   
  


"God, I hate this state."   
  


A couple of people laughed in agreement. There was a funny thing about Ohio, though. People could say that they were going to move out and escape as many times as they wanted to, however in the end they would always wind up back in the same miserable state that they complained about their whole childhood. It was an agricultural blackhole.   
  


"You're not alone in this sentiment," spat Raquel. "The least Umbrella could have done was station me in Miami." She flipped her black brain from in front of her shoulders.   
  


"But that would be a nice place to live," Adrian pointed out. "Besides, it could be worse."   
  


"If you say one word about Raccoon City, maldito chico, I'm going to shove that pole so far up your--"   
  


Another whistle sounded from the deck of the pool. The trainees looked over to see Alex tapping her watch. She tapped it twice and then raised her fingers. Five minute warning. The woman sat back down.   
  


Jo had returned and was standing next to Alex. She shook her head, having heard snatches of the previous conversation. "They treat Raccoon City like a joke."   
  


"I get those sims running and they won't be joking about the cannibal-murder capital of the world."   
  


The brunette glared. "Even you make light of it."   
  


"I do not. I don't make light of much of anything--with an exception made to Adrian's boxer shorts."   
  


Jo wove her hands together and tapped her fingers on her knuckles. Her face was red, though her partner couldn't read the exact expression on it. She sighed and looked at the blonde. "I'm sorry, its just ..."   
  


Alex shrugged her off before she could finish her statement. "We're all tense. The truth is an Outbreak could happen anywhere and anytime. They joke because they don't know what to do with their fear."   
  


The brown-haired woman sat and slumped, scuffing her sandals on the tiled floor. She started to say something but bit her tongue, tapping her fingers some more. "I guess so," she finally replied. The captain looked over. Jo was out of sorts today. The bounce was gone. That bothered her-- a lot.   
  


"You alright, Java Jo?"   
  


"Yeah ... I was just thinking of all those people and how frightened they must have been. What a horrible death ..." The train of thought faded off. There was more to it than that, but the brunette haired youth wasn't talking. She covered her tracks and grinned, restoring the familiar bouncing presence. "You know, according to my watch they have thirty seconds."   
  


Alex glanced down at her watch. "Yeah." She stood from the lounge chair and prepared to give the trainees instructions. Jo stood with her, back to her usual vibrant self. Feeling their glances they lined up in the water, waiting. The blonde spoke: "Its 1:27. Its time for calisthenics."   
  


Calisthenics in the water was an entirely new matter, and Alex soon learned that the team did not like treading, therefore she set them to do it for thrity minutes. "If you're complaining about it," she said, "obviously your skill isn't very high." They kept their complaining mouths shut after that, experience teaching them that this would prevent extra work in the future.   
  


The captain stood on the side and watched them for a few minutes, then executed a perfect dive in between Adrian and Jo. Adrian was scared out of his wits and sank for a couple of seconds, but was treading once again when Alex surfaced. The children from the shallow end once again gathered at the buoy in astonishment, hanging their hands and heads over the rope divider. The little smiling faces shortly became too much of a temptation for the grim blond in the water.   
  


"Jo, you stand out and watch them for a moment."   
  


"Yes, sir."   
  


The two swam to the edge of the pool and slid out. Alex broke from her second-in-command a few seconds later and walked to the shallows.   
  


A brave boy was standing on the side of the pool, attempting to dive in the water as he had seen the blonde do. As he leapt, she snatched him out of the air and put him down beside her. The boy looked up at her startled and frustrated. His face said: "What did you do that for?"   
  


The woman crouched down to his level and put her hands on the child's shoulders. "That's a dangerous trick, young man. The water's so shallow you could hit your head and break your neck on the bottom. Paralysation isn't fun."   
  


The boy didn't reply, just looked dejected at his reflection in the water. The reprimand to his stunt didn't scare him from diving like it was intended, but made him pouty instead. Alex shifted in her stance, trying to discover a remedy for the situation. "How about I teach you something you can do instead."   
  


The grin returned to the wet-headed child's face and he clapped his hands eagerly. "Okay!" He watched intently as the blond woman crouched down on the side of the pool. She peaked her hands over her head and fell forward into the water, doubling back after swimming to the middle. The grin on the boy's face widened as he realized the potential of this safe trick.   
  


"That," Alex explained, "Is a bunny dive, but you can call it something cooler."   
  


"Like a penguin dive?"   
  


"Whatever you want." She held her hands out. "Now hunch like I did--yes, that's right. You've got the hands. Now fall into the water--don't worry, I'll catch you before you hurt yourself." The kid did as he was told, several times in fact, and when he felt confident enough he swam across the pool to show his friends what the "cool S.T.A.R.S. captain" showed him. Son there was a crowd around Alex begging to be taught the renamed Penguin dive, including Annette Riddle, who could now doggy-paddle. The other trainees glanced at the blond here and there. Her level of patience was astonishing to them and her following of munchkins was highly amusing to Jo.   
  


There were now about twenty children who wanted to grow up to be on S.T.A.R.S.   
  


***   
  
  
  


Undisclosed Location   
  
  
  


Albert Wesker crept in the shadows, waiting for his rondevous. The red eyes glinted from behind foggy sunglasses. At the risk of being seen, he removed them, wiping them clean on his sleeve. Once returned to their proper position the man turned around to view his surroundings once again.   
  


'She should be here by now,' he thought. 'She wasn't this late when I discarded that trespasser from the base.' The egomaniac crossed his arms over his chest, leaning on the cinderblock wall to wait. A new duralumin case sat at his feet, painted black and waiting with him.   
  


The barest whisper of the wind caught the man's attention and he raised his hands. "It took you long enough, EVE."   
  


"You try avoiding Umbrella police in this country at night," a voice from the dark responded.   
  


"You could have obliterated that threat easily."   
  


"They weren't worth my time, besides it would have been an unnecessary confrontation."   
  


"Any news on the Berceuse Project?"   
  


"The digging I've done indicates that executive Valeris Davenport's pet project relates to the Ashford twins. Finding the details, however, is dangerous and comes at a price."   
  


Wesker stepped away from the wall, picking up the duralumin case. "I think I can pay. I have something you want."   
  


The woman code-named EVE stepped into the faint light just away from the wall. Her face was young, stern, and interested. Thick, red hair was braided down her back, with the long remnants of bangs hanging around her too-true-green eyes. A mocking smile curved across her sculpted lips in the same way Wesker's did when he was arrogantly amused. She was his match in feminine flesh, cool, calculating, and non-existant according to the government files.   
  


"You have it then? T-Veronica."   
  


"A sampling of the broken down version. I could reconstruct it if you could get me some valuable information."   
  


"Berceuse?" The woman stepped around Wesker, glaring through him, into him. "Deal, but if your end doesn't hold," a stiletto flashed near the man's throat, "You will be eliminated."   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Rattlesnake Creek, Midfield Valley   
  
  
  


Roiling gray clouds passed overhead as Petra sped across the flat field over Rattlesnake Creek behind her backyard. The air ran through her hair and stung her face as the bangs whipped across her bare forehead. Her body rocked back and forth with the ruts of the imperfect ground. In the sanctuary of her Bombadier ATV she reflected on everything that had passed.   
  


Out of the corner of her eyes she could see the orange of her elbow pads, brightly contrasting the brown and gray shades of winter. She was wondering about her misperceptions and the truth--the cyclops of the mind. Odin may have gained wisdom at the price of an eye, but he lost the ability to make his own. One eye gives a man poor perception of depth.   
  


Depth was what the green-haired woman needed. Everything was tangled up in her misadventure in Anarctica--family's death, Umbrella horror, the dead boy, the red-eyed man ... And then the Redfields had waltzed into the mess, one of whom had a family picture of the auburn haired youth. How had Claire gotten that? Most people don't give away family portraits.   
  


Petra sidled along the bank, half watching the high, muddy water as it made its way to Delaware County. The orange Bombadier sputtered to a stop by the bank as she did so. "Aw, fuck," shouted the woman, slamming her hands on the handle bars. Dismounting the ATV, Petra checked the gauges and found nothing amiss. It wasn't even out of fuel as she'd first interpretted. She got back on and tried starting it again, but it just sputtered at her menacingly. The woman gritted her teeth. "There's nothing wrong with you!"   
  


Chris stepped out of the back door and saw Petra across the yard arguing with the machine. Somewhere between amused and bewildered, he called his sister and started down the slight incline to the old tractor bridge crossing the creek.   
  


"You need a hand with that?"   
  


The woman saw Chris and rolled her eyes. " Fuck off, Redfield."   
  


The man took that as a yes and ambled over beside the youth. She glared as he looked over the machine and whistled in admiration. "She's gorgeous. Claire's going to be jealous. Her motorcycle's now in bits and pieces."   
  


"What are you doing?"   
  


"Making casual conversation."   
  


"Why?"   
  


Chris bent down and examined the underside of the ATV. "Beats me."   
  


Claire made her way across the tractor bridge, carrying a gas tank and a tool kit that she found in the garage. She put them down next to the Bombadier and patted the seat. "Canadian made, nice!" The red-head walked around the machine as Chris had before, blue eyes examining everything. "Nothing's wrong out here. Let's open her up." She made a move to get to the engine and Petra stepped in front of her.   
  


"No way the anti-cook is messing with my machine."   
  


"Actually, she's an incredible mechanic."   
  


"You should have seen my suped-up bike. She was a beaut--purred like a kitten."   
  


"You're kidding."   
  


"Nope, food may flee but vehicles flock to the great Claire Redfield. I mean, have you ever met a mechanic that could cook, and if you did would you trust them?" Chris grinned, bending toward the frustrated punk. She resisted the urge to sock him.   
  


"You're honestly good at--"   
  


"Yes, yes, yes. I'm better than Chris. Just give me some tools and let me work. The Bombadier will probably run better than when you bought it."   
  


"You're confident."   
  


"It's a Redfield trait."   
  


In short order, Claire figured out what caused the relatively new ATV to stall. With Chris and Petra's combined help, they'd managed to have it humming nicely. However, after the ordeal no one was in the mood to go riding around in forty degree weather. They returned to the house exhausted and the two women practically fell on the couch, cheeks red and legs a little more than muddy.   
  


Petra pulled up her shirt and examined the frost bite, which was tender again. The red-head glanced over then stared at the red marks, which had faded considerably since yesterday. "It looks better," the younger Redfield said, offering a smile.   
  


The woman relaxed and pulled her shirt back down over her belly. "I guess it does."   
  


Claire watched her for a moment and gathered her courage. "I know you were kind of upset about it yesterday, but, if you don't mind my asking, how did you ..." She gestured to the youth's stomach, trying as hard as she could to be the opposite of Chris.   
  


Petra sat and examined her, thinking of all the coincidences. She wanted answers about as much as Claire, and there was only one way left for her to get them--tell her. She took a deep breath. "Well, it's a long story and I don't even have it sorted out--"   
  


Chris finally entered the room. He was carrying three mugs of hot chocolate in his hands. It seemed that when the girls plopped, the man had gone to the kitchen to make something to warm them all up. The brunette handed out the marshmellow topped drinks then sat himself in the recliner. Petra stiffened up on the couch, reluctant to touch her drink.   
  


"That's the second nice thing you've done today."   
  


"You're welcome," he replied. Claire felt thwarted and leaned back on the couch with her eyes closed. Chris saw her and raised his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, did I interrupt something."   
  


"Only me about to spill my guts about Anarctica."   
  


"What!" Both of the Redfields shot up in their seats. Claire's blue eyes fixed on the woman's face as Chris yelped in pain at the slight spill of boiling water on his arm. Both had been completely caught off guard.   
  


Petra looked between the two of them and sighed. "Looks like we've all got some explaining to do. I know you two want to know about the frostbite and no doubt why my family isn't here." She pulled at an earring thoughtfully, trying to hold anger in her tone and not break down.   
  


"My parents worked for Umbrella. My mother was a researcher on a top-secret project by some guy named Valeris Davenport. His estate's in this town, but he spends most of his time in Paris, so my mom did too. She never spoke about work.   
  


"My father was a bio-genetic engineer who worked for a pharmaceutical company bought up by the damned Corporation. That's how they met and they've worked for Umbrella ever since, shoving their ideals down my brother and I's throat. My brother took the bait--had a cubicle on the third floor of Midfield Valley's Umbrella Headquarters. They wanted me to work there too--but I'm a student."   
  


The siblings looked at each other, wondering where this was going.   
  


"I told you this was long. Now years of busy shit with no breaks or vacations went by, then Umbrella said 'hey, your family is a real asset to the Corporation, how about a full paid vacation.' I'm like, 'Hell's yeah, finally something good. Mom and dad, let's take it.' So Dad takes his privated plane and we go island hopping to Australia for some beach time. It was kind of a late Christmas present.   
  


"This is where the weird shit starts. Somewhere off the coast of Australia this weird storm hits and the gauges go wild. The little plane is blown off-course, and dad was a fucking excellent pilot. It starts going down and we crash in Anarctica--hell, we were lucky not to sink in the ocean.   
  


"I know I was thrown from the plane. There was an explosion and my ears rang. Everything seemed so slow, like a movie. I turn and the plane's burning, melting everything around it. Do you know how it feels to be helpless--to watch people die like that."   
  


Claire shifted in her seat.   
  


"I could feel the heat from where I sat. Whenever I moved a foot forward the heat boiled me back. God, I could hear them burning up and screaming, and I couldn't do anything or risk dying with them.   
  


"I don't want to blame Umbrella, but its all so ... Suspicious. I can't explain it, but I knew I couldn't stay there. It was so cold. I saw this building on the horizon and walked. There was this freaky base, but I was so cold I went in. Someone had crashed a cargo plane into the wall like a dumbass, which was really troublesome."   
  


Claire's mouth hung wide open. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. It was too coincidental--too, unnerving. Someone else was in the base and neither herself nor Chris had seen them. Had Alexia? That egomaniac, Wesker?   
  


"Fucking dead zombies were everywhere," she continued. "And this mansion--I mean, come on, only Umbrella would be so weird. Just as I was about to get cozy, the damn self destruct system goes off. God that was annoying: 'The self-destruct system has been activated. All personel evacuate immediately.'   
  


"So I'm trying to find my way back out of the loopy place, stepping over blood and corpses wishing my nose was desensitized, and I find a non-zombie boy. Well, he was dead, but he wasn't undead." She took a deep breath, trying to control her voice and face as her emotions threatened to break out. "I couldn't leave him, so I took him, but outside I fell and thought I saw this man, then I fainted. I woke up on the way back here, but the boy was gone."   
  


Claire clutched her hands to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut. What she was hearing was impossible: the base, the zombies ... "Steve," she whispered.   
  


Petra caught her breath and looked at the other Redfield. "You do know him. I saw the picture."   
  


The red-head looked up and drew the picture out of her pocket. "We met on an island. We helped each other escape then wound up in Anarctica. He died saving my life."   
  


"Oh." The woman put a gloved hand out and touched her arm. Her lips twisted somewhere between a frown and a grimace. "You were there. I'm sorry."   
  


"Chris got me out. I'd been looking for him since Raccoon City."   
  


The punk looked between the two of them. "It's been that long? And you found each other? No one would have ever done any of that for me. I-I--"   
  


Claire tried to smile. "Thanks for trying to save him. Leaving his body was the hardest thing I've ever done."   
  


"You guys were on that jet then."   
  


"We were," said Chris. "I wish we would have known you were there."   
  


"You found me anyway. What's it matter? Maybe we'll find that boy again."   
  


"His name was Steve," Claire corrected. "Steve Burnside."   
  


The hot chocolate sat on the coffee table as the trio sat in muffled silence. When they remembered it was there it had long since grown cold.   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Midfield Valley Youth Club, Parking Lot   
  
  
  


Alex stood at the side of Jo's car, S.T.A.R.S. uniform over her bathing suit. She hated venturing out in chilly weather without a hat over her wet hair, but there was no way in hell she was going to wear the beret that was a standard item of female clothing. She popped the trunk off the black Cherokee to dig out the pool toys inside.   
  


The funny thing was that the trainees would have no clue what their captain was doing. It was the sad thing too.   
  


The blond gathered the uninflated neon floats and foam pool-noodles in her arms. Chalcedony eyes searched for the sinking weights, but couldn't find them in the back. Frustrated, she put the foam toys down and climbed into the back, leaning over the seat. A chill wind ran through her uniform as though it knew she was wet underneath. She shivered and turned around, pulling the back hatch closed behind her.   
  


"This is a pain in the ass," she muttered to the jeep.   
  


Alex leaned back over the seat, spying the box of small sinkers under the passenger's seat. She leaned over further, knees lifting off the floor where she kneeled as she extended her right arm to grasp the edge of the box. Her fingers missed and she lunged, falling headlong over the seat, faced jammed into the floor.   
  


"Lovely. I always do things the hard way."   
  


The woman finished crawling over the seat and righted herself, pulling the box out from under the seat. She put it behind her in the back and bent down to pick up a few weights that had managed to fall out on the drive over. As she reached for the last one, her hand felt the plastic surface of something like a driver's license. "What the--" She grabbed onto it and the last sinked, pulling both out in front of her.   
  


Methodically, Alex dropped the sinker in the box with its friends, looking at the laminated card. She suddenly knew why Jo had been upset.   
  


The card read: "Jo-Ann Sullivan, Raccoon City High School, Senior."   
  
  
  


TBC in Chapter 7 


	7. Behind Closed Doors

Heaven Can Wait   
  


Kasage Starrunner   
  


Disclaimer: Resident Evil and all characters, settings, monsters, and corporations associated with the game series and the movie are © Capcom and its affiliates. The author has no association with any of these companies.   
  


All other characters and creations are © Kasage Starrunner. The author would like to note that Petra Cross, (Jo Sullivan, possibly) and Adrian Rhodes are part of a joint game project with her and friends, and that Petra will also be used in a collaborative mange started by Mangaworkshop.net. Also, the character Alex Quenby is based on her character, Quenby Andries from the Infinite Spiral Manga saga. Other character associations will be mentioned as necessary.   
  


Also, feel free to correct my Resident Evil knowledge. I want to be accurate. Suggestions on that account are encouraged.   
  


Author's Notes are available after the chapter.   
  


A Cast List will shortly be available at my site, Let Me Live::   
  


http://geocities.com/lukleia/claire.html   
  


Warnings: Violence (as typical for Resident Evil), profanity (the worst namely on the part of Petra)--more warnings will be added if necessary.   
  
  
  


Chapter Seven: Behind Closed Doors   
  
  
  


Davenport Estate, Midfield Valley:   
  
  
  


The ants climbed over each other in a writhing, undulating mass, heedless of the two pairs of eyes watching them. Their sets of mandibles grabbed and tore at the aphids that had been cast down as their unsuspecting lunch. They were furious, methodical, ceaseless, and soon the bloated green bugs were devoured by the frenzy. A pudgey peach finger tapped on the glass casing.   
  


"Alfred, are you watching?"   
  


The young blond started out of his gazing and turned to his female counterpart. She sat with her legs crossed on the floor, slender arm extended upward. A giant monarch perched gracefully on her index finger, wings fluttering in a contented manner. A smile spread faint across her bubblegum lips as she hummed softly to herself, amazed at the trust of the fragile insect.   
  


"Do you see it, Alfred?"   
  


The pale boy nodded and watched the paused creature, fascinated. "It's beautiful." He held out his own hand, but it started to tremble violently. He jerked it back to his side. The girl tossed the butterfly into the air.   
  


"You forgot to take your vitamin."   
  


"I did not."   
  


"Don't lie to me. I can't stand it when you lie." Icy eyes met pallid blue ones. Alfred looked to the ground, lips quivering as much as his hands. The blonde child grabbed one of them, soothing the trembling boy with a gentle squeeze. "I'll get it. Just sit tight."   
  


The blue-eyed girl in the black velvet dress stood and walked from the room, slanted light from the window hitting her porcelain face as she crossed the rays. She opened the door to the hallyway and stepped across the sterile steel to the medicine room. She tried the knob, but the metal door was locked. The blonde fought with it for a moment, then crossed her hands, glaring darkly at the locking mechanism.   
  


"Open," she spat.   
  


The door clicked and obeyed her, and her frown faded back into a smile. Doors were easy to deal with. She pursed her lips as she examined the various cabinets, finally scrambling up onto the counter to reach one on the far right. Elegant fingers grabbed the latch and it opened with a *clack*. Blue eyes searched the shelves of pills diligently to find Alfred's multivitamin that he took five times daily to keep up his iron levels. She knew that it had been far too long snice he'd taken one, as the boy was shaking from lack of oxygen.   
  


At last, she found the right bottle, amber colored with detailed courier print on the lable. She absorbed the ingrediants and instructions immediately, then snatched it from the table, popping the child-proof lid. She pinched one of the little pills in her hand and replaced the bottle with its cap back into the shelf and cabinet that it came from. The blond popped down from the counter and skittered across the hall back to her ill companion.   
  


When she opened the door, the young lady found Alfred quaking on the floor next to the broken glass of the ant farm. The little black insects were crawling everywhere--on the boy, the floor, the table, and more. The butterflies had been startled by the shattering sound and fluttered their wings from the ceiling, disconcerted. The child sighed and walked toward her friend, vitamin in hand.   
  


"What did you do, Alfred?"   
  


The blonde boy looked at her sheepishly. "I tried to move the ants to the table, but I started shaking and it slipped." He yelped as he felt some under his shirt. "Now they're everywhere."   
  


The girl held out the vitamin in her palm. "Take it--carefully. I'll get the ants back." She looked at them marching all about the room. "You should get a plastic farm so it doesn't break."   
  


Patent leather shoes thudded across the floor as she watched the ants, searching for their queen. The dependent insects would do whatever the girl desired if she held their queen hostage. She found the hive mistress surrounded by a few of her favorite ladies-in-waiting. The child shoved them all aside, plucking the queen from their midst and trapping her in a jar. This, she put on the table, and the insects gathered to it, horrified at the thought of losing their matriarch.   
  


The ants thus occupied, the ten year old turned back to Alfred and helped him to his unsteady feet. "We have to clean up their colony," she said, gesturing to the box of dirt and shards of glass. "Her daughters are in there and she'll want them."   
  


"She?" The boy brushed a few stray workers from his pants.   
  


"The Queen."   
  


She picked up the box, sitting it and herself at the table with the monarch and her court. Nimble fingers began picking out the broken shards, careful not to prick her fingers or cut herself. The blonde then moved the jar to the center of the box, causing the disgruntled colony to follow the Queen back to their original home. A couple of ants straggled behind. This was unwise on their part as they soon discovered themselves to be the prey of a much larger insect.   
  


Slender, deadly forelimbs snatched the two lollygagging workers from their march. A praying mantis had sat perched on the table, waiting to strike. The girl looked at the lithe green hunter and it swivelled its small deltoid head to examine her with large, compound eyes. The mantis brought an ant to its mouth and its mandibles ground together. The girl was captivated by the more evolved insect. It, however, wanted nothing to do with her and leapt away as soon as it finished its snack.   
  


Perched on a chair it eyed the gathered band of ants coldly. Even the mantis would never attack the colony as a whole--and never the Queen.   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Midfield Valley, Ohio, Sullivan Cherokee:   
  
  
  


The sport utility vehicle hummed as it sped down the road and away from the youth club. Jo sat in the driver's seat, sable hair plastered to her head and neck. Neither her nor Alex had bothered to dry their hair before leaving the busy building. It had been a lengthy session and both wanted a hot cup of tea and a couch to sprawl on. The brunette herself wanted a nice bath, but she figured her counterpart would settle for a shower. Bubbles and scented liquid soap didn't seem like something that would interest the gruff woman beside of her.   
  


The youth checked her mirrors then glanced over at the blonde. She was more stiff in her seat than usual and had seemed a little spacey since she'd gone to the Jeep to get the pool toys for the team. There was an uneasy silence between them and the young woman wasn't really certain of how to break it.   
  


She didn't have to. At the next stop sign, Alex cleared her throat and looked at her partner. "Why didn't you tell me you were from Raccoon City, Jo?"   
  


The brunette gripped the steering wheel and sat at the intersection, several opportunities to cross the road passing by between automobiles. Her ears reddened and chin quivered as she stared through the winshield with empty, coffee-colored eyes. "I ... always meant to ... I just ... couldn't ..." The woman paused and a few more cars rolled past. The road cleared.   
  


"Go," said the blonde.   
  


The youth hit the accelorator, not speaking again until they reached the brick headquarters. Alex let her gather her thoughts, not wanting to touch something so emotional as this seemed to be. She had little understanding of emotion, and this often got her into trouble where females were concerned. Jo finally spoke again. "It's hard to talk about ... You know? There aren't many of us left and there aren't any support groups either. We're all alone out here dealing with a massacre."   
  


"So you were--"   
  


"In college when it happened. It was my last quarter. I graduated about a month afterward."   
  


"And you arrived in training where I was in early December. I always wondered why you didn't go home for Christmas."   
  


"I had no home to go to."   
  


"If it makes you feel better, I don't either."   
  


Jo seemed not to notice the confession and drummed her fingers across the wheel. She signalled to turn into the drive of the house, pulling in what counted as a driveway. She put the Jeep in park and turned off the engine, unbuckling herself from the vehicle. Glad to be free of the confined space she jumped to the ground. Alex followed close behind her.   
  


"You alright?" the tall woman asked.   
  


The young woman shrugged and shuffled to the porch, key in hand. "Come on. I'll show you something. It's in my box of preciouses."   
  


"Preciouses? Is that a techinical term?"   
  


"If you've read 'The Hobbit,' you uncultured swine." She opened the door and tromped inside, walking back towards the stairs. "Just grab one of Mrs. Feldman's cookies and plop yourself on the couch. I'll be back in a jiff."   
  


The blonde thought it best not to argue, so snatched a chocolate-chip cookie and started munching. They really were delicious, if bad for her health. The neighbor had a way with chocolate chips--they practically melted when she bit into them.   
  


Jo returned down the steps with a book in her hand. Alex watched her approach curiously. She was carrying the leather-bound volume like a treasure. She sat on the couch next to the tall woman and offered a meek smile.   
  


"It's my yearbook. Senior year was the only year I could afford--or really wanted."   
  


"I never cared to get any."   
  


Her partner said nothing and began to flip through the cherished pages, re-reading old autographs from best friends--most of whom were no longer living. She flipped past the prom page, then back again, gazing at it for a long time. She had this delirious smile on her face--as though she remembered every detail. The blonde followed her eyes to a picture of Jo, her hair in an up-do with daisies and curls, dressed like a princess next to a tall man with a bowl-cut in a tuxedo. His smile was goofy, but genuine--highly contagious, and his arms encircled the small woman's waist as they slowdanced together. It was signed across the page:   
  


'Jo, 

Here's to the bestest friend a guy could have. Thanks for going with your loser best friend. I'll never forget it. 

Lots of Luck and Love, 

Leon S. Kennedy'   
  


Alex had to read the signature again to be certain. "Leon? You mean that's the Umbrella-wants-to-lock-you-up-and-throw-away-the-key Leon Kennedy?"   
  


Jo snapped the book shut. "Yes, he is. I was the first person her told about entering the RPD Academy, and I was the first person he called the first day on duty when it happened." Her voice faded from a shout to a whisper. "I haven't heard from him since ..." Dark brows knitted together, troubled. Alex finished her cookie.   
  


"Well, he didn't die in the city or there wouldn't be a reward."   
  


"Something could have happened afterward. He always kept in touch. I wish he'd call and tell me what went on in there ... Everything. It'd make me feel so much better."   
  


The blonde shurgged. "Men."   
  


"This wasn't just a man. This is my best friend. This is Leon! And by now I doubt he even knows where to find me or anyone else that left RCHS before the clock ran out."   
  


"It's probably a good thing he can't find you. I'd be forced to turn him in."   
  


"What?"   
  


"Corporate policy," she said flatly.   
  


"Alex--you wouldn't. You're not that heartless--or, I want to think--I mean ... Don't you realize what he means to me. My middle school brother, 11 year old sister, parents, granparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, pets, classmates--they all died in Raccoon City. Leon is the only thing I may have left and even that isn't certain. All of the people I ever loved died! They became zombies and tore each other to pieces and--and," she sobbed violently, caught between anger and grief. Alex could only look at her in numb silence. The tall woman had no clue what to say to console the brunette that wouldn't make things worse. She couldn't remember being close to anyone.   
  


"That's why you asked to be recruited to S.T.A.R.S.," she said dumbly.   
  


"You're damn right that's why." The youth fought to bring herself under control again. She looked at her partner, brown eyes tenacious. "I'm not going to let that happen again."   
  


Chalcedony eyes met earthy ones cooly, lacking sympathy. "Do you honestly believe that's what we're here for?"   
  


"I want to believe ... To believe that Umbrella is trying to protect the people with S.T.A.R.S. and ... and the remote locations of the research headquarters."   
  


"They're not out to protect the people. They're out to protect themselves." Her voice was sober, steady, honest.   
  


"That's not right."   
  


"But its the truth. Jo, let me give you some advice from the lips executive Valeris Davenport: Umbrella is your god. The sooner you learn that, the safer you'll be."   
  


"Ragnorrok," Jo murmured.   
  


"What?"   
  


"Ragnorrok--in Norse Mythology its the day the gods will be destroyed."   
  


"And ..."   
  


Jo said nothing.   
  


***   
  
  
  


Umbrella Headquarters, Paris, France:   
  
  
  


Valeris Davenport was correct when he assumed that today would be a long day. The genetics team assigned to Alexis Quenby were taking far too long in their D.N.A. analysis and Genome decoding. He had very little patience left to spare. What was worse was that it was only Tuesday and he had receieved a transmission that eight of his beloved Muses were ready to awaken from their slumber back at his Mid-west estate. According to his replacements for the Cross team, the remainder of the Nine would be ready to awaken by Monday. This necessitated a long trip to the United States.   
  


There was more bad news. A lower officer had reported the return of a student named Petra Cross to her hom in Midfield Valley. She had discovered the Anarctic Base, but supposedly had seen nothing--unusual. This was disconcerting, as he had also heard reports that Alexia had been prematurely released from her cryogenic state and was destroyed by the Redfields--but that information came from JANUS. As if the Redfields weren't enough trouble, now Petra was alive, well, and suspicious. That green-haired, rebellious thorn was supposed to be dead--either burned or frozen or turned into a lovely, brainless mutant. Someone had rescued her and not one member of the Corporation knew who it was.   
  


More reasons to return to the States.   
  


He pounded the desk with his fist. If those test results didn't get to him by midnight Friday, the genetic department would have to mail them to him. There would also be hell to pay. The mystery of Alex Quenby would be uncoiled, the research staff surviving or not.   
  


The clock on the aged man's desk chimed the half-hour. It was 11:30. He really should let his secretary go home for the duration of the night. The poor thing kept the oddest hours thanks to him. He tapped his cane on the floor, brown eyes staring intently at the phone. When he decided that it wasn't going to ring the man stood from his swivelling office chair and walked out the double doors into the lobby. His secretary sat at her desk, trying to deter someone on the phone in rapid German. Exasperated, the young woman--an intern--hung up the phone, twisting her painted lips in disgust. Her olive brown hand lifted to flick a wayward strand of luxurious curled hair from her forehead before turning back to her blinking computer. Valeris leaned on his ornamented cane and watched for a moment, almost sorry to interrupt the doe.   
  


"Miss Salvatore."   
  


"Yes, Mr. Davenport?" The woman leaned forward on her arms, exposing the graceful curvature of her breasts. The executive mentally reminded himself that he was married and old--neither of which made the gaze very acceptable. He focused his eyes on her pleasant face. She was smiling.   
  


"I believe it's long past your bedtime. Better clock out and get some rest."   
  


"Yes, Mr. Davenport," she repeated. He began to return to his office and she spoke again. "Shouldn't you clock out too? Its nearing midnight."   
  


Valeris smiled back at her. "Don't you worry. I just have a couple little items left to finish. I'll be along shortly."   
  


The Italian nodded. "Goodnight, sir."   
  


"Goodnight, Miss Salvatore."   
  


The grey-haired man returned to his office as the woman gathered a few extra assignments to take back to her apartment. He shut and locked the twin doors behind him, walking over to the door in the bookshelf. Using the cane he opened it and withdrew the Berceuse file. The long day was about to get longer again.   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Midfield Valley, Cross Residence:   
  
  
  


Petra stared at the plate below her with a bewildered and suspicious look. The burgers and baked potatoes glanced so ... perfect. She poked at it with her fork a little. "This can't be real. There's no way Claire made this."   
  


"She didn't. I did," retorted Chris, taking a huge bite out of his doublestack.   
  


The woman reflexively shoved her plate away. It slid across the table and clinked against the older Redfield's. He paused from inhaling the food to shove it back at the punk, grinning.   
  


"It won't bite," he said.   
  


"You made it."   
  


"And?"   
  


"I trust it less than Claire's."   
  


Claire smiled. "You're just saying that because he drives you nuts. Trust me, my food is practically a biohazard."   
  


"Practically?" The woman bit into her burger and was pleasantly surprised. Chris watched her reaction and took a gulp of water.   
  


"I'm sorry sis, but I have to side with Petra on this one. Those eggs were a biohazard."   
  


"Hey, you ate them."   
  


This got a laugh from the green-haired youth. Chris had eaten the frightening eggs without any prompting. He was in no place to make a judgement on his sister's cooking. However, the man wasn't too appreciative of the jab.   
  


"Watch it, Claire-bear."   
  


Petra began to cackle. "Claire-bear? He calls you Claire-bear!"   
  


The younger Redfield threw a piece of ice at her brother. It went down the front of his shirt and he squirmed. Now two women were laughing. "I told you not to call me Claire-bear."   
  


"I'll do it again if I have to."   
  


More ice was launched at the tall brunette and he ducked away. Claire soon gave up on her rampage and shortly afterward Chris returned to his meal. His relaxation came far too soon, because unbeknownst to him the hostess had slipped from the table. Paying too much attention to his food was a bad idea, in Claire's opinion. The 19 year old had seen her leave, horns seeming to sprout from her green head. She decided to let the other woman do her worst and said nothing to her brother. Much to his dismay, he was soon soaking wet as an act of vengeance by Petra.   
  


Chris didn't like the fact that Petra and Claire ganged up on him. They, on the other hand, loved it, and gave each other a high-five as he ran to the bathroom to dry off. This left them both to finish their meals in peace. By the time he came back they were done and giggling with each other about what an ass he was.   
  


The older Redfield draped the towel around his shoulders as he rejoined the two women. Petra snickered when she saw him and was met with a fiery scowl. She just sat there smug.   
  


"Are you refreshed, Chris?"   
  


The older man just growled and scarfed the rest of his dinner, dumping it in the sink. He wiped his mouth with the towel and stomped out of the dining room into the living room. The allied young women followed after him, nearly bouncing.   
  


"You're such a fucking pig," Petra jibed playfully.   
  


The brunette muttered something under his breath that neither woman could hear and they laughed again. The tables were turned--Chris was pissed at Petra. Of course, the punk's lengthy revelation of her time in Anartica had put her in a more pleasant disposition. On the contrary, it just gave the man more to worry about. As for Claire, the mutual dislike of all things Umbrella plus the shared experience of the southern-most continent had made them in separable partners-in-crime.   
  


In other words the former Air Force pilot was outnumbered and under fire. It was currently a losing battle. He flopped on the couch, propping his shoeless feet on the Ottoman. His younger sister sat next to him, smirking with her whole face.   
  


"God, Claire. What do you want?"   
  


"Since you asked: Petra and I were talking and decided that us Redfields look too much like ourselves. Since I don't want to end up in a zombie infested prison again, we thought it might be a good idea to get makeovers."   
  


Chris started to smolder. "You mean make-up."   
  


Petra grinned. "A little make-up never hurt anybody, and something has to be done about that hair."   
  


"I am not hearing this."   
  


"Oh, and we could dye yours. Claire's is too cool to fuck with."   
  


"I am not hearing this."   
  


There was a knock at the door.   
  


"Thank the lord," yelled the older Redfield.   
  


"Shh!" hissed the punk. "You're not supposed to be here. Be ... not in this room."   
  


The knock came again and the Redfield siblings dashed out of the room. The green-haired woman had no care to find out where they hid and just went to the door as the doorbell rang.   
  


"I'm coming. Hold you horses."   
  


The woman peered out the peephole and growled. "It's fucking Adrian. What the hell does he want?" She opened the door violently and practically smashed the young man when she opened the storm door outside. He was standing in his S.T.A.R.S. uniform looking like she was about to bite his head off. Lucky for him she wasn't a crocodile.   
  


"Truce," he ventured, raising his hands palms front to her.   
  


The punk examined him closely, from the new uniform, to the look on his clean-shaven face. After a moment of silence, she stood from the door and waved him in. "Get in the house, you gorilla, though I don't honestly know what inspired you to make a house call."   
  


The caramel-haired youth followed her in, grinning sheepishly. "I miss you in my classes."   
  


"No you don't, you bastard-assed son of a bitch."   
  


"Piss-y, Miss Petra."   
  


"Up yours, Rhodes." She picked up the mugs that had been sitting in the living room since early afternoon. The woman had forgotten that she had left them out.   
  


"Company?"   
  


"My parents."   
  


Adrian tried to take the mugs from her to help, but she jerked away. He sighed and twiddled his thumbs. "Actually, that's what I came to talk to you about." She ignored him and tromped toward the kitchen. He hung near the stairs, keeping a safe distance. "I know they're dead, Petra."   
  


She stopped and slowly pivoted around to face the young man. Her jaw was clenched tightly shut, chin jutting out and up in the air. The mugs were clutched tightly to her chest, skin stretched tight over the finger bones. The clown wasn't sure if she was going to cry or kill him.   
  


"It was in the paper."   
  


"Shit." The woman turned back to the kitchen. Adrian followed a few steps behind.   
  


"I wanted to see if you were okay."   
  


"Yeah, well fuck-off." She waltzed into the kitchen with the empty mugs. To her horror she discovered where the Redfields had hidden. "Shit. Adrian--" It was too late.   
  


"Holy shit!"   
  


Petra smacked her head as Claire bared the blade of her combat knife. "This is not happening."   
  


"The Redfields in--here. Holy shit!"   
  


"We're past the holy shit, Adrian."   
  


"Oh my God!"   
  


"You sound like an idiot."   
  


The siblings said nothing as the S.T.A.R.S. member continued to alternate between "Oh my god," and "Holy shit." It was difficult to judge whether he was frightened, excited, or just plain crazy. The punk ditched the cups in the sink with the other dirty dishes and grabbed the babbling man by his shoulders. She dug in with her fingernails.   
  


"Ow."   
  


"Shut the fuck up and listen to me. No one knows the Redfields are here. You are not going to tell anyone."   
  


"But my Captain--"   
  


"Fuck the captain. If anyone finds out Chris and Claire are here than I will personally castrate your ass, you got it?"   
  


Adrian gulped. "Got it." He looked around the room. Three pairs of eyes glared at him and he shuddered. "Honest to god I won't tell Umbella Police--or anyone else."   
  


Petra poked him in the crotch with her knee. "I don't believe you."   
  


The man gasped. "Chris Redfield is my god--well, sort of. I--could you ... um."   
  


The punk let him go and backed away, allowing the young man to gain back some amount of dignity. Chris gave him a semi-sympathetic look from across the room and the youth relaxed. At least Petra wasn't choosy in her brutality.   
  


Claire stopped threatening the brown haired man with her knife and stuck it back in its sheath in near her ankle. It hid well in her boot. She stood straight again and looked between her hostess and the hostess' new prey.   
  


"Aren't you going to introduce us?"   
  


The punk rolled her eyes. "This is my ex. Adrian Rhodes."   
  


Adrian waved nervously. "Pleasure. Its an honor, really." He glanced at the green-haired young woman near him. "If you're going to kill me, please get it over with."   
  


"I like to see you squirm."   
  


"Figures. So ... why?" he said, gesturing to the house.   
  


"Pit stop," replied Chris. "En route to bigger fish."   
  


"Take your meaning."   
  


Petra raised her fists and the young man raised his hands again. Nothing was escaping his lips about any of this. He walked around the table, suddenly realizing that Claire was much prettier in person then in her wanted picture. However, this was a dangerous thought as he saw her protective older brother inch closer to his sister. Adrian shook his head.   
  


"You two stick out like sore thumbs."   
  


"They're aware of that," the violet eyed woman snarled.   
  


"You can stay and help with the makeovers," offered Claire. The other woman gave her a warning look. "I mean, Chris doesn't was Petra touching him."   
  


"I'd be happy to help. I mean--"   
  


"Don't you work for Umbrella," spat the youth.   
  


Adrian sighed. "Just because I work for Umbrella doesn't mean I like them. Now let's get this party started."   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Midfield Valley, Ohio, Roberts Road:   
  
  
  


The pounding feet jolted Alex rhythmically as they hit the sidewalk running. After learning so much about Jo she'd had to escape to think for awhile. Now, she was enjoying her run, keeping just ahead of the chaos of her mind. The ghosts of her thoughts followed at her heels and she stepped up the pace to be rid of them.   
  


She hit County Line Road and doubled back across the other side, heading back toward the head-quarters. However, the tall blonde wasn't ready to return there. The brunette wasn't very happy with her and the woman still hadn't decided what all she had done to offend her. She knew some of the reason was Jo's attachment to Leon Kennedy, but she couldn't understand the hostility when all Alex was doing was her job. It frustrated her.   
  


She hurled herself over the fence to the cowpasture that ended at the backyard and kept running, using the uneven ground as leverage to propel herself into the air and over the natural debris. She hit a line of trees near the middle of the pasture and stopped. The woman turned her head, having heard a faint rustle from behind her. Chalcedony eyes narrowed. She put her hands near her holster, planting her feet in the ground.   
  


"Who's there."   
  


Booted feet crunched on the ground from where she had heard the rustling. Alex turned around and saw a blond haired man in black, clapping his gloved hands together. Sunglasses shielded his eyes, but she knew who he was. The blonde set her jaw and scowled.   
  


"Congratulations, Captain Alex Quenby. Not everyone on this planet notices me before I choose to be seen. Your observational prowess is commendable."   
  


"Albert Wesker ... I'm so surprised," she said sarcastically.   
  


The man examined her, smiling to himself as she stood doing the same, stiff and cold. "Assignment to S.T.A.R.S. I wonder what Umbrella wants to cover up in this city?"   
  


"Don't know, don't care."   
  


"Lier. You'll find out days before the bomb is dropped. You're a clever wench."   
  


"Bastard," she retorted. "I'm as much like a wench as you are a human being."   
  


"Ouch, that stung." He was amused now. "Don't like being female?"   
  


Alex ignored the comment. "I don't like you. You tarnished my reputation with your actions in Raccoon City. My whole team is waiting for me to kill them in their sleep."   
  


"I don't think you want them to trust you."   
  


"Trust me? Never, but respect is something else entirely. They don't like that their lives hang off me right now. But you knew that."   
  


"Of course. You're the only link between the team and the dark secrets of my former corporation."   
  


"Traitorous ass."   
  


"Harsh words, and yours, not mine. I consider myself ambitious. Umbrella couldn't give me what I wanted. Bio-ject gave me more than I ever dreamed of."   
  


The blonde woman cackled. "So you sold your soul to a new corporation for the price of power. Now you're someone elses lap dog, you just have a prettier collar."   
  


Wesker took a step towards her, serpentine smile on his face. "Lap dog? I think not. Besides, I know that Umberlla thwarted your goals as much as mine. Too much ... competition."   
  


"Don't even compare me to you. I prefer to keep my soul."   
  


"You'd be surprised what you can do without one."   
  


"Lap dog. Got any more tricks that your owners taught you?"   
  


The man's hand shot out and grabbed her throat, holding her in the air as he had done to so many others. "I would quit the petty insults now. You are in no position to be sarcastic. The way I see it, your situation is fairly pathetic. I just came to drop a warning--which wasn't entirely necessary on my part. I also came with something else."   
  


Alex grinned at him and more to Wesker's surprise forced a reply. "You're a real charmer, aren't you?" The blonde tightened his grip and the woman tightened her muscles, grin fading to a glare. "Tell me what you're here for."   
  


"An offer, of sorts. If you'll consider it."   
  


"When you've made it." Alex lashed out, releasing herself from the man's choke-hold with a deft movement. She saw the man tense--his gesture of surprise. "Don't ever try that again," she whispered in his ear. "Now speak, then leave."   
  


"Let's just say I have information for everyone these days--and more. We could use another ruthless card at Bio-ject, and there would be plenty in it for you."   
  


The blonde played coy. "Information? In reference to what?"   
  


"Only about a certain little girl, stolen from a certain family, and what a certain someone has done with her."   
  


The woman clenched her fists and socked him. He let himself fly to the ground, unharmed. "Consider this ruthless card still under Umbrella employment."   
  


Albert Wesker brushed himself off and began to walk away. "Admirable loyalty, Alex. If you ever change your mind the offer still stands. I'll find you."   
  
  
  


***   
  
  
  


Midfield Valley, Ohio, Cross Residence:   
  
  
  


"I look so ... girly."   
  


Claire examined herself in the mirror, appalled. Her hair had been let loose and now hung curled around her head. The bangs were teased and curled--barretted at the ears with glittering dragonflies. Petra had done the works with her make up as well, spending particular care on the eyes. They were lined and shadowed with golds and browns that made the blue pop, giving them a fake look. The red-head had also never realized she had such thick natural lashes. Mascara did scary things.   
  


"Lipstick?" the punk questioned. "Don't know if I have anything that will work with that copper hair."   
  


The younger Redfield raised her eyebrows. "How much make-up do they make?"   
  


"Poor, naive, tomboy. They have cosmetics for everything. How about a warm rose?" Claire grimaced and fingered the tube. It just looked so ... "It's not near so pink on. Sit still and I'll try it. Not like it's permanent." She began applying the lipstick and continued talking. "It's stupid, but I prefer a little Coral. It makes my lips a tiny bit brighter without being gawdy. Gawdy make-up is for hookers."   
  


"I'm starting to feel like a hooker."   
  


"Don't move ... There. Could use a little lip liner, but you're just trying to look different, not like a super model."   
  


The woman felt a little bit plastic. "Where did you learn all this?"   
  


"Mom ... I never thought I'd actually use it. This stuff was hers."   
  


Chris walked in the room followed by a beaming Adrian. The young man thought he had been quite successful with the older Redfield. However, the older Redfield wasn't quite so sure. He'd removed the gel from his hair and brushed it straight with a part on the side to feather his bangs. It made him look younger ... by a lot. He looked less like a soldier and more like a 20 year old college student. The Redfield was still there, but less pronounced. The brunette hated the hair in his face.   
  


"Voila!" said the S.T.A.R.S. member, gesturing to his masterpiece.   
  


Petra raised an eyebrow. "It took you an hour to do that?" She rolled her eyes. "Turn around, Claire."   
  


"I don't want to."   
  


"Turn around."   
  


Reluctantly, the red-head turned around. Chris' mouth dropped open in shock. "That's my little sister? She looks like a girl!"   
  


Adrian resisted the urge to whistle, fearing death by the hands of both Petra and Chris. Why were the cool girls always off limits? He stared at a light on the ceiling. "How about your brother."   
  


Claire blinked then scrunched her nose. "He looks like he's trying to be Steve."   
  


"No shit," muttered the punk. "It'll work. At least you don't stick out anymore."   
  


Chris nodded. "I just hope that noone else recognised us."   
  


TBC in Chapter 8. 


	8. Shadow Dance

**_Heaven Can Wait_******

****

_Kasage Starrunner_

**Disclaimer: _Resident Evil and all characters, settings, monsters, and corporations associated with the game series and the movie are © _****Capcom and its affiliates.  The author has no association with any of these companies.  **

All other characters and creations are © **Kasage Starrunner.  The author would like to note that Petra Cross, (Jo Sullivan, possibly) and Adrian Rhodes are part of a joint game project with her and friends, and that Petra will also be used in a collaborative mange started by Mangaworkshop.net.  Also, the character Alex Quenby is based on her character, Quenby Andries from the _Infinite Spiral Manga saga.  Other character associations will be mentioned as necessary._**

Also, feel free to correct my _Resident Evil knowledge.  I want to be accurate.  Suggestions on that account are encouraged._

**Author's Notes are available after the chapter.**

For more information go to  **Asylum Arc:**

http://geocities.com/lukleia/asylum.html

**Warnings: Violence (as typical for _Resident Evil), profanity (the worst namely on the part of Petra)--more warnings will be added if necessary._**

****

****

**Chapter Eight:  Shadow Dance******

**S.T.A.R.S. Headquarters, ****Midfield Valley****, ****Ohio**** University**

            Alex sat awake in bed.  Her and Jo had split up to sleep at 11:30, but her mind kept running in circles from everything that had surfaced between the two of them during the day.  The woman touched her throat where it was bruised from Wesker's hand—the enduring mark of his offer to join his corporation.  Jo hadn't noticed that when Alex returned from her venture.  No, she was moaning over a picture of her and Leon as "Class Clowns."  She sighed.  The man seemed nice enough from his yearbook photos.  He was just probably in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The blonde wanted to apologize but at 2:00am it would have to wait at least until dawn.  God, why couldn't she have just told her that she'd protect Jo's friend if he came knocking?  She had the answer:  because she could not lie when it came to a promise, and she refused to make a promise she might one day have to break.  Too many broken promises already … The blonde wanted to be able to protect Leon S. Kennedy from the corporation that hunted him.  She wanted Jo to be able to trust her.  But how could the brunette trust her with a life when Alex didn't even trust herself?

            _"A certain little girl, stolen from a certain family, and what a certain someone has done with her."_

The woman clutched her heart.  Wesker's bite had dug in deep, and she despised him for it.  Her mind was her own, and that pansy, blonde, mercenary had no right to delve into her deepest secrets.  She got out of bed and began pacing back and forth in the attic room, rubbing her temples with her index fingers.

Images … they flooded her mind without rhyme or reason, a fluid vortex of forgotten and dismissed pain sucking her down to drown.  They had struck once when she first reached for sleep and only worsened now in alert consciousness.  Alex's childhood was there, high school, then emptiness.  There was a void she couldn't get past.  Damn, she hated herself.  If Jo only knew what a failure her partner was—if the team knew …  She flopped back onto the bed, head in her hands.

            "Oh god …"

There was a knock at the door.  "Alex?  Alex, are you okay?  I can hear you pacing downstairs."

Alex grappled for control of herself, seeking memories more tangible and modern.  Her mind recalled the image of the Licker monster, then filled in the details—the stench of its flesh, the sounds of its clattering claws, the feel of razors across her body, the T-virus attacking her nervous center and failing, the sickening crack as the electrical door crushed the creature's skull in triumphant vengeance.

And then the pain was gone, replaced by an enemy Alexis Quenby could fight, or shadows as it were.  She opened the door.  Jo stood there, red faced, eyes swollen from lack of sleep and worried tears.  The brunette trembled a little as she stood. The bath had done her no good.

            "Are you okay?" she mouthed.

Alex nodded, continuing in the lie she conjured up, but seeing the look on her partners face changed her mind.  She let the control drop, sighed, and fell back on her bed.  Jo joined her with a heavy thud, and her body bounced a little.  The blonde just lay there with her eyes closed, listening to the other woman's shuddered breathing.  

            "I am … not myself."

Jo sat for a moment, contemplating the statement.  It confused her, but she asked no more knowing there would be no answers, or not any that she wouldn't have to decipher.  She leaned back with the other woman and looked at her.

            "You …"

            "I what?"  Alex whispered.

            "You don't make promises you can't keep."

            "No."

            "I'm sorry."

            "No …"  She opened her eyes looking at the sloping ceiling that faded into a black peak.  "When I was a kid I wanted to protect everyone, but …"  She squinted, but it was gone.  "But …"

            "You can't."

            "No …"

            "Then why are you here?"

            "I don't want t—I don't know."

            "Alex?  Where did you work before Umbrella?"

            The lines of the plaster made crisscrosses.  The blond looked at them and sighed.  "I can't tell you."

            "Why?"

            "Because, I don't know.  I can't … remember."

            "Remember what, your job?"

            "Everything.  Everything except a little girl—and … and I think that the little girl was … me."

            "Alex?"

            "I'm not myself.  I'm sorry."  Her lips closed and locked.  There was nothing more she could say about the matter.  She felt Jo's weight shift as she sat up in the bed.

            "You like children, don't you?"

            "Huh?"

            "It was just the way you acted with those kids at the youth club.  You were … gentle."

            The blond smiled.  "I guess so."

            "People are like that too, you know."

            "Mmm?"

            "We're a bunch of … babies, really."

            "I am."

            "Yeah, a colicky one."

            Alex laughed and sat up.  The springs of the bed creaked.  "So we're okay now?"

            "Yes."

            "And I should treat my team like kids?"

            "That was going to be my next statement."

            "We'll see.  I lack patience—"

            "No.  That's not it."  She stood up from the bed.  "But I'm not about to spoon feed you.  Sort out your brain, woman.  There's a lot you've boxed in there and its time to clean out the closet."

            "Neat freak."

            "I mean it.  What you can't remember …"

            "I can't explain that.  I don't know.  There's something missing."

            "Like how you recovered from T-virus infection?"

            "Mmm …"

            "What?"

            "Umbrella needs to clean out their closet."

            "Umbrella's not the only one.  Take a look on Wall Street sometime.  There's a lot of dark closets out there."

            "Name one."

            "Bio-ject."

            "What did you just say?"

            "B-i-o-j-e-c-t."

            "That's the second time in 12 hours I've heard that name."

            "Huh?"

Alex smoothed the sheets with the palm of her hand.  "Sit back down, Jo.  It's better that you hear this before anyone else."

Jo's boots clunked on the hard wood floor as she returned to sit by the captain.  The springs creaked again with her slight weight.  The brunette looked to the ground, trying to organize the conversation, but there were two many gaps.  She turned again to the other woman.

"What is it?"

"I went for a run after upsetting you—to think.  I was intercepted … by Albert Wesker."

Jo jerked around in her seat.  "What?  Albert Wesker?"

"Yes."

"What does he want with you?  Isn't destroying one S.T.A.R.S. team enough for that—"

"He just wants … me.  He had this look on his face I despised.  Like it said, 'I know something you don't know.'  He wanted me to join Bioject."

"Are you okay?"

Alex rubbed her throat.  "I'm fine.  He's a strangely powerful man, but nothing I couldn't handle.  Got a nice bruise out of the deal, though.  He really didn't want me dead."

"Figures.  He knows you survived the T-virus.  Your friend Valeris didn't clean up very well."

"No …  There's a mole in Umbrella, but that's not what worries me …"

"What then?"

"It's what he knows about me."

"Is this about—"

"Yes …"  Her voiced faded off.

"How far back can you—"

"To just before I joined Umbrella.  I woke up in a hospital.  They said I'd been in a coma, but other than that all the images are blurry.  The first person I remember is … you and Valeris."

Jo rubbed her arms where goose bumps had begun to sprout.  It wasn't that it was cold, the furnace was turned up tonight.  However, there was a chill in what was going on.  "There's something odd about you."

"I won't deny it … And Umbrella and Bioject are both stepping around it trying to get a hold on me."

The brown eyes were fierce.  "We can't let that happen now, can we?"

"No."

"Someone's got to stop them."

"Who?  Who in the hell is going to stop a major corporation?"

Jo slumped over, elbows braced on her knees.  Neither had an answer.  The floor boards creaked under the bed with invisible feet as the shadows danced, questions in the minds of two stubborn women.

***

            Alexia walked through the tendrils of transparent darkness, eyes closed and naked.  Her body emitted an eerie glow through the night-mist as her hair flashed like golden starlight.  There seemed to be nothing visible, or solid beyond her.  However, there was a cryptic feeling of something hidden beyond what was seen.

The woman stopped, crossing her hands over her heart as one in a coffin and smiled, whispering one word, Berceuse.

That's when they came running in from behind the black velvet curtains surrounding the blonde crowned woman.  Nine Alexias of different ages appeared before her.  Each one's golden hair waved like a banner as they rushed forward to greet their Queen with an embrace, and Alexia accepted them, wrapping her frigid arms about them.

All of them but one.

One girl of ten years rustled in like the others, but she did not embrace her Queen Mother.  She stared at the suspended woman with watery blue eyes, melancholy written across her brow, apology in her stance.  From where she hung, Alexia felt the rejection and her ice-sheared blue eyes opened in fury.  The little girl, instead entwining herself with her Ascendent, offered her a fragile winged monarch with her two trembling hands.  Alexia struck out in anger, refusing this inferior gift just as the girl had refused to become One with what was herself.  The woman could not understand her refusal to merge, and called her children to her.  The ants crawled up upon the girl and devoured the butterfly, it unable to flutter away as it was cruelly consumed.  The blond girl cringed and fell to the floor on her knees, crystal tears running down her angelic face.

Alexia smiled at the pain.  She was the Queen, the Goddess.  Her Will ruled them, her Nine.  She raised her arms and the other Alexias surrounded the fallen one, blank faced and cruel.  Their blue eyes pierced their sister's soul as they opened their mouths to sing:

_"There was a friendly, but naive King_

_Who wed a very nasty Queen._

_The King was loved_

_And the Queen was feared._

_"Then one day while strolling with his court_

_An arrow pierced the kind King's heart._

_He lost his life_

_And his lady love."_

_***_

**Midfield****Valley****, Cross Residence**

            It was the third time since Antarctica that Claire had awakened to this song.  She was beginning to wonder whether or not she was going insane.  The nineteen year old shook her copper head and looked at the clock: 2:42.  Muffled voices were coming from under the floor—downstairs in the living room.  Hadn't those people gone to bed yet?  The blue eyed woman stretched and rolled from the bed onto her feet, deciding to check it out.   It was not her greatest desire to repeat that dream sequence twice in one night.

Lights flickered on the plaster walls as she tiptoed down the steps.  She slowly realized that the television was on, which probably explained the voices.  The red-head entered the living room and shook her head.  Chris was on the couch, facing away from her and smoking a cigarette.

            "God, Chris!" she snapped.

The man jerked in his seat and turned his head to look at his scowling sibling.  His hands were held up in the air, so the cigarette was left hanging in his mouth, smoldering.  He took it in his hand and blinked a moment.  "What are you doing up?"

            "Nightmare … again.  What about you, it's almost 3:00 am?"

The older Redfield grinned and motioned Claire to step around the couch.  She did so and stifled a giggle.  Petra had literally fallen asleep at some point during the night.  She was draped across Chris' lap, hair in her content face, and arms hanging limp over the armrest.  It was the quietest she had seen her when Chris was less than a foot from her.

            "She's been that way since midnight," her brother whispered.  That meant she'd fallen asleep only an hour after Adrian left for his apartment.  The young woman decided that she must still be fatigued from her experience.  She knew that she'd be asleep if it weren't for the dream.

Petra stretched in her sleep, knocking her hand against Chris' face.  He grunted and the sleeping woman started, eyes flashing open and the contacts resetting over her hazel eyes.  When she saw the man's face she jumped away as quickly as possible.  "Shit!" she muttered.

            "Good morning, dear heart."

The punk gathered herself and glared at the older Redfield as he made himself more comfortable.  "Fuck you, Chris."  Of course, she looked ridiculous, flat hair and smudged mascara (though Claire didn't look much better, but she wasn't trying to be intimidating).

Chris just smiled.  "And I was beginning to think you had feelings for me, Petra."

            "What the fuck?  Where did you get that brilliant idea, dumb-ass."

            "Well, you did fall asleep on me."  He motioned to his lap.  "You can go back to sleep if you want."

            "You motherfucker!"

            Claire tried to intercede.  "Hey, you were tired. Don't listen to him.  He probably thinks you're hot when you're angry."

            This only gave her brother more fuel for the fire.  "Oh, I think it's quite the opposite, wouldn't you agree?"  He looked at Petra with ornery blue eyes, and nodded her over.

            "Uh … ew … God, you are a bastard and I think you're disgusting."

            "You're just saying that to cover up your true feelings.  You thought my lap was comfy."

            "True feelings?  Comfy?  You ass, I haven't liked you from the moment I met you.  You're arrogant, full of yourself, and fucking crazy."

            "I prefer to call myself confident."

            "Whatever it is, I despise you."

            He laughed and looked at Claire.  "I think I nailed it, look at her red face."

The red-head rolled her eyes as the punk fumed where she stood.  Her brother was ridiculous.  If she were Petra, she'd kick his ass or—She blinked.  The green-haired woman was now right in front of her.  Before she knew it, she was caught up in the arms and lips of another woman.  She felt the older woman's hands run through her lose hair, down her back and below her waste.  The younger Redfield wanted to lash out, but was too surprised at the active mouth of Petra.  Claire didn't even know that she was unconsciously encouraging the situation with her own actions, and found herself against a lot more of the punk then she meant to be.

            "What the hell?"  Chris was pissed, but the young woman didn't release his sister for a good half a minute, making sure that the older Redfield knew that her tongue was involved.  When she finally let go, the blue-eyed woman just stared at her dumbfounded for a moment, as Petra watched the murderous glare grow in the man's eyes.  

Claire was breathing heavily as though she didn't know exactly was had just happened, holding her hand to her heart now wondering if she was a lesbian because she enjoyed that.  Or did she enjoy it.  God, why did she even get up at three?  Her first words weren't very intelligent.  "Damn, that's the best kiss I've ever had—Oh God, I did not just say that out loud."

            "What, Claire!" the brunette man bellowed.

The red-head twiddled her thumbs as the punk laughed at his defensiveness.  That stunt had worked perfectly.  Claire stuttered to herself, blue eyes wide with disbelief.  It was unfortunate that the woman became an innocent victim, but it was worth it for the look on Chris' face.

            "Was it as good for you as it was for me?"  She cackled as the man's face reddened, almost more than his sisters.  She grabbed her sweater from the chair and slung it over her shoulders.  "I'm going to bed.  I'll leave you two kids to figure out what the hell just happened here."

***

**Bio-ject Medical Facility, Undisclosed Location:**

**            Wesker returned to the medical facility perturbed.  His business from yesterday took far longer than expected, and the fact that Steve had awakened without him only added fuel to the fire.  His plan had been to be there at the exact moment the foolish high schooler opened his eyes, but that bumbling Dr. Forscythe had neglected to mention his regaining consciousness.**

It was no matter in the end.  The Burnside teen would be under his complete jurisdiction soon enough, just like little Sherry Birkin.  It was a shame that the government hadn't know what to do with such a prize—however, they're loss was his gain.  He had been such wonderful "friends" with Birkin.  "Of course, the custody was assigned to you Albert Wesker."

He snickered.  Officials were more foolish than the Phoenix.

He keyed in the access code to the room containing his project, and the door slid open.  From where the man stood, he could see the brown haired woman sprawled across the lower end of the bed, glasses tilted over her nose, and an open book in hand.  Her clipboard had fallen to the floor sometime after the woman had slumped over, and it lay upside on the floor, papers scattered.  Wesker bent over and organized them onto the clipboard, making careful notes of the woman's observations.  She remained asleep breathing steadily, pathetic human being.  The whole scenario was distasteful to him.

He laid the clipboard in a safe place on a nearby aluminum chair, putting his briefcase down as well.  The metal and metal made a slight clang as they greeted each other.  The blonde man heard a muffled groan from the bed and looked toward the headboard.  

            "So, Steve, you're awake."

The boy gave him a puzzled look from his horizontal position.  "I'm pretty sure I haven't seen you here before.  Who are you?"  Gray-hazel eyes blinked, soaking in the sunglasses, the arrogance, the contrast of the man's pale skin and hair against the black uniform he wore.  His mouth twitched, as though he remembered something briefly, but it slipped.  "I sorry, I should know you?"

"Don't trouble yourself with trivial introductions."  

Wesker stepped around the bed and the sleeping woman, taking care not to limp from where Alex's feet had connected with his solar plexus.  That woman was a surprise, to say the least, despite all the strange tidbits of information he had gathered.  If her denial hadn't frustrated him, the man would be far more amused.

            "So I should know you?"

"I, among other things, am the reason you are alive, Mr. Burnside." 

 Steve nodded at that, and Wesker turned to the chair containing the clipboard and briefcase.  His fingers flicked lightly through the contents of the case for a moment, until he found the set of papers he was searching for.  "I need you to sign these," the blonde said, retracting a chrome pen from his pocket.

            "What are they?"  The boy had pulled himself up in bed, the first gesture of the returning control of his musculature.  The gray eyes gazed at him somberly, but slightly dazed.  It was a strange combination of expressions.

            "Consider them insurance forms.  You sign them and you owe us no monetary compensation for anything involved in your recovery."

Steve nodded and held out his hands, attempting to control the quivering that came on—quivering not unlike when the circulation had been cut off for an extended period of time.  He found that a strange observation.  He blinked and realized that the pen was dangling in front of his nose in the man's hand.  Wesker stole the slumbering woman's clipboard from the chair and attached the papers to them, handing these also to the auburn haired young man.  He looked from the papers to the black clothed man, pen poised.  "Shouldn't we wake her up first?"

            "Let her sleep," the European laughed.  "Just sign on this line and the one on the next page.  I'll witness."

The boy nodded again and scrawled a jerky "Steve Burnside" across the signature lines, consigning himself to the fine printed words he couldn't focus his eyes to read.  Wesker offered an arrogant smile and added his own initials.  The youth had no clue that he had signed his life over to Bio-ject and Albert Wesker as compensation for his treatment.

            "Now that the legal business is finished, I'm going to transfer you to a specialized treatment facility under my direction."

            "Will Marion be there?"

The red eyes darted to the passed out woman then back again from behind the black shield of his sunglasses.  "No, she will not.  Dr. Forscythe has other business to attend to.  From here on out you are in my personal custody."  

Wesker placed a gloved hand on the teenager's shoulder and he shuddered.  There was something about this nameless man … But his voice continued:

"Besides, Miss Marion is a researcher, do not make the mistake of thinking that she is qualified to continue your care."  It was a lie, but he gave it smoothly and Steve half-believed it.  At any rate, the boy knew he was in no position to argue.

"When do we leave?"

Wesker leered, his hands folded over his chest.  "Now."

***

**Umbrella Headquarters, ****Paris****, ****France******

            Valeris held the phone a foot from his ear, listening to how distressed the other voice sounded.  It came out statically, like an overseas call.  The old executive sighed into the phone.  "I'm sorry to hear that.  Lord Alfred found dead, that is a shame."  He paused.  "No sign of the Redfield girl?  Pity the T-virus didn't get her."  Another pause.  "No, no, I'm afraid business is too pressing here at the International Headquarters.  I won't be able to attend the funeral …  Thank you for your condolences, I was indeed close to the Ashfords.  Good-bye."

He sat the phone back in the cradle gently, grey eyes sparkling.  Alfred Ashford was dead … how convenient.  The old man drummed his fingers across the desk, rolling back and forth in his chair like a small child.  His mind reconstructed the young heir's demise—somehow, during the T-virus outbreak, Claire escapes her cell.  That lunatic Alfred, finding her, blames the fall of his beloved Rockfort stronghold on the Redfield.  Claire finds a plane and tries to escape, but Alfred reroutes her to Antarctica.  He wants revenge.  However, somewhere in the shuffle, Chris Redfield and Wesker are in and out of the scene, Alexia is awakened, and her and Alfred both are killed.

He leaned back in his chair.  Something wasn't quite right … Petra.  Yes, Petra had been to Antarctica.  It was where the plane crashed.  The report by Michaels said she had even been to the base.  What lies had that woman told about what she had seen?

Probably many, she was a slippery wench.  A patent leather shoes tapped impatiently on the ground.  There were too many holes about this incident that he wanted filled in shortly.  Valeris knew he would be making some house calls when he returned to Midfield Valley.

And he would return to Midfield Valley as Executive Head and CEO of Umbrella Incorporated.

***

**Davenport**** Estate, ****Midfield****Valley**

            EVE climbed into the house through the open fourth floor window, breathing heavily.  Her cotton tank clung to her breasts in sweat from the effort exerted in soundless returning to the mansion.  Once inside, she kicked off her boots and stripped down to bare flesh, feeling the 30 degree night air quickly soothe her sweating skin.  Naked, she walked to the master bathroom as though she owned it and leapt into the shower.  A pale hand yanked the braid extension from the back of her head, revealing short clinging red hair.

            She smirked.  This had been an interesting day.

            The red-head turned on the water and let it flow over her, steam quickly rising throughout the room.  It was a relief to her sore muscles.  Double lives weren't easy, and triple lives were even worse.  The smirk widened into a grin.  Where would she be without the challenge?

            She lathered herself in soap and then watched the foam circle round the base of the shower with her emerald eyes.  Iridescent bubbles gazed back at her as they were swept out of site and away.  The woman exited the bathtub, and running a towel over herself, wrapped herself in a clinging robe.

            EVE returned to the bedroom and picked up the pack she had discarded on the floor.  Inside it was the duralumin case given to her by Wesker along with a few other items:  floppies, files, a nonsensical keychain from young Alfred.  The T-Veronica virus was in her grasp, and she didn't even have to invade the abode of Valeris' precious Muses to get it.  The night had been profitable.

            She walked to the wall and keyed in her access code, dropping the items into her private store that her executive husband would never dare touch.  No, he was too frightened of her cold beauty.  The door slammed shut and she pulled on a pair of concealing flannel pajamas—time to act the role of stepmother.  

            When she exited the room she ceased to be EVE.  When she exited the room she became Valeris' second wife.  When she exited the room she became Erika M. Davenport.

            Bare feet stepped down the carpeted stairway, toward Alfred's room.  She could hear him from the crack under his door, muttering to himself or his dead mother.  That poor child was such a lunatic.  He had no ability to comprehend death or move beyond it.  Valeris should really send him to counseling before it turned to a worse insanity.

            "Its not like I meant to knock them over," she heard him mumble through the door.  The woman leaned her head against it expecting to continue to hear him talking to himself.  Instead, he was interrupted by a girl's voice.

            "I told you to take your vitamin regularly, Alfred.  If you don't, you will die."

The painted lips turned to a scowl.  A girl?  She wouldn't have—no she did.  Erika threw the door open. It slammed against the wall and both Alfred and the blond haired girl jumped up in alarm.  Alfred saw the green eyes and practically screamed in shock, but retain himself in order to explain.

"She's all alone-"

"I won't here it, Alfred.  Not one word."  He grew silent and the stepmother turned her gaze to the girl who stared back without fear or regard to the red-heads superior position.  Erika lowered her brows.  "Alexia-Clio Ashford, what are you doing in this house."

The girl stood and brushed off her velvet dress, unphased by the ice of the woman.  "Alfred came to visit me in the Dormitory and became ill.  I couldn't leave him there, so escorted him back to the mansion."  She pursed her lips and eyed Valeris' wife.  "I was only acting in a manner appropriate to a true lady."

"Don't give me your 'lady lectures.'  Valeris will be most displeased if he here's you ventured into the open.  What if a low member of the staff had heard you?  Seen you even?"

"When Alexia-Calliope, Alexia-Erato, Alexia-Euterpe, Alexia-Melpomene, Alexia-Polyhymnia, Alexia-Terpischore, Alexia-Thalia, and Alexia-Urania awaken it will not be easy to hide us all."

Erika stepped further into the room.  "Valeris and I shall both concern ourselves with that when the rest of the Nine awaken.  Until then, obey him and do not leave the Dormitory, except to take care of Pepper, and then only at night, and"

"By no means am I to enter the mansion.  Yes, I know."

"Now go back to the others."

"They're sleeping."

"Well, you should be as well.  You should have been asleep two years ago."

The girl smiled.  "But I'm not.  I'm very much awake."

"Well all good girls are in bed at this hour."

She tilted her head.  "You must be a bad girl then, being out so late."

The red-head made a move to slap Alexia, but she was out the door before she could make the motion.  Erika shook her head.  That girl moved faster than Wesker.  She was practically a ghost.  The woman turned around, feeling Alfred's eyes on her.

"What is it Alfred?"

"She really did help me.  I was shaking something awful.  I never could have got back here to the nursery.  She felt so bad she didn't notice I had forgotten the vitamin sooner."

"Hmmm …"

"She sang me that lullabye too, the one about the king and the queen.  I love that one."

"I know you do."  She bent down, rage dismissed now that things had returned to order.  She held out a hand and patted the boy on the head.  "It's past three in the morning, young man.  You should be asleep."

"I know, but I never do like sleeping."

"The nightmares will stop."

"I don't think so."

The woman stood and walked back to the door.  "Well, that's childish of you.  You're eleven years old, you should really begin to act it."  She stepped out and started to shut the wooden door, leaving it open a crack:  "Get some sleep, Alfred.  Studies won't wait for the boy who stayed up too late into the night."

"Yes, mother."

"Good night."

"Good night."

She shut the door softly and crept back to her chambers.  '_I hate dealing with Alexia,' she thought.  That child was far too intelligent for her own good.  However had been the nursemaid in the Ashford home must have felt the same way about the original copy._

Erika fell back on the bed with a sigh.  Of all the crazy jobs she had, being the Davenport's wife was the most taxing.  She'd take the Underworld gods any day to dealing with the Berceuse Project.  A hand reached up to touch the flame auburn hair and she released a sigh.  The muses would awaken soon.  Then this assignment would reach its peak.  Rolling on her side she grabbed a pillow and pulled it to her chest.  "How much more?  How much more of this can I take?"

TBC in Chapter 9.


End file.
